ClAS 


U N I VLRS  ITY 
or  ILLINOIS 

S7  1 
T5.Er 

>874- 


I'J 


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COMEDIES 

OF 

T E R E N C E. 


LITERALLY  TRANSLATED  INTO  ENGLISH  PROSE, 
WITH  NOTES. 


By  henry  THOMAS  RILEY,  B.A., 

LATE  SCnOLAE  OF  CLARE  HALL,  CAMBRIDGE. 

TO  WHICH  IS  ADDED 

THE  BLANK  VERSE  TRANSLATION  OF 

GEORGE  COLMAN. 


NEW  YORK: 

HAEPBR  Si  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN  SQUARE. 


1 8 7 4. 


\, 


HARPER’S 

NEW  CLASSICAL  LIBKAEY. 

COMPRISING  LITERAL  TRANSLATIONS  OF 

JUVENAL. 

XENOPHON. 

HOMER’S  ILIAD. 

HOMER’S  ODYSSEY. 
HERODOTUS. 
DEMOSTHENES.  2 Vols. ' 
THUCYDIDES. 
w^SCHYLUS. 

SOPHOCLES. 

EURIPIDES.  2 Vols. 

LIVY.  2 Vols. 

12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50  per  Volume. 

Harper  & Brothers  will  send  either  of  the  above  tvorks  by  mail,  postage 
piepaidf  to  any  part  of  the  United  States^  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


C^SAR. 

VIRGIL. 

SALLUST. 

HORACE. 

CICERO’S  ORATIONS. 
CICERO’S  OFFICES,  &c. 
CICERO  ON  ORATORY  AND 
ORATORS. 

TERENCE. 

TACITUS.  2 Vols. 


jr>  B & R*  tS  i tnVutST 


PREFACE. 


In  this  Version  of  the  Plays  of  Terence  the  Text  of 
Volbehr,  1846,  has  been  followed,  with  tlie  few  excep- 
tions mentioned  in  the  Notes. 

riic  Translator  has  endeavored  to  convey  faithfully 
the  meaning  of  the  author,  and  although  not  rigorously 
literal,  he  has,  he  trusts,  avoided  such  wild  departures 
from  the  text  as  are  found  in  the  versions  of  Ecliard, 
Cooke,  Patrick,  and  Gordon. 


4t 


CONTENTS. 


COMEDIES  OF  TERENCE. 

IN  PROSE. 

PA68 

Andria;  or,  the  Fair  Andrian 1 

Eunuchus  ; OR,  the  Eunuch 63 

Hbautontimorumenos  ; or,  the  Self-tormentor 132 

AdELPHI  ; OR,  THE  BROTHERS 197 

Hecyra  ; THE  Mother-in-law 254 

PiioRJiio ; OR,  THE  Scheming  Parasite 301 

IN  VERSE. 

The  Andrian 367 

The  Eunuch 408 

The  Self-tormentor 451 

i.^-^rHE  Brothers 494 

The  Step-mother 535 

Phormio 568 


ANDRIAi 

THE  FAIR  AxNDRIAE 


DRAIMATIS  PERSON-®. 

SiMo/  an  aged  Athenian. 

Pamphilus,^  son  of  Simo. 

SosiA,^  freedman  of  Simo. 

Chremes,* *  an  aged  Athenian. 

CiiARiNus,®  a young  Athenian,  in  love  with  Philumena. 
Crito,®  a native  of  Andros. 

Davus,"^  servant  of  Simo. 

Droaio,®  servant  of  Simo. 

Btrrhia,®  servant  of  Charinus. 

Glyceriuai,^®  a young  woman  beloved  by  Pamphilus. 
Mysis,'*  her  maid-servant. 

Lesbia,^^  a midwife. 

Scene, — Athens  ; before  the  houses  of  Smo  and  Glyceriuai. 


^ From  aifidg,  ‘‘  flat-nosed.” 

^ From  TTdv,  “ all,”  and  (ptTibg,  “ a friend.” 

^ From  Gui^G),  “ to  save saved  in  war. 

* From  ;^pe//7rro/za£,  “to  spit.” 

® From  x^P^Ci  “ grace.” 

® From  KpiT7)c,  ‘‘a judge.” 

’ From  Dacia,  his  native  country ; the  Davi  and  Daci  being  th« 
same  people. 

® From  dpofioc,  “a  race.” 

^ From  7ri;/5/5df,  “red-haired.” 

From  yTiVKEpb^,  “sweet.” 

^ ^ From  Mysia,  her  native  country. 

From  Lesbos,  her  native  country. 

A 


THE  SUBJECT. 


Chremes  and  Phania  were  brothers,  citizens  of  Athens.  Chremes  go- 
ing to  Asia,  leaves  his  daughter,  Pasibula,  in  the  care  of  his  brother 
Phania,  who,  afterward  setting  sail  with  Pasibula  for  Asia,  is  wrecked 
off  the  Isle  of  Andros.  Escaping  with  their  lives,  they  are  kindly 
received  by  a native  of  the  island ; and  Phania  soon  afterward  dies 
there.  The  Andrian  changes  the  name  of  the  girl  to  Glycerium, 
and  brings  her  up,  as  his  own  child,  with  his  daughter  Chrysis.  On 
his  death,  Chrysis  and  Glycerium  sail  for  Athens  to  seek  their  fortune 
there.  Chrysis  being  admired  by  several  Athenian  youths,  Pam- 
philus,  the  son  of  Simo,  an  opulent  citizen,  chances  to  see  Glycerium, 
and  falls  violently  in  love  with  her.  She  afterward  becomes  preg- 
nant by  him,  on  which  he  makes  her  a promise  of  marriage.  In 
the  mean  time,  Chremes,  who  is  now  living  at  Athens,  and  is  ignorant 
of  the  fate  of  Pasibula,  agrees  with  Simo,  the  father  of  Pamphilus, 
to  give  Philumena,  another  daughter,  in  marriage  to  Pamphilus. 
While  these  arrangements  are  being  made,  Chrysis  dies ; on  which 
Simo  accidentally  discovers  his  son’s  connection  with  Glycerium. 
Chremes,  also  coming  to  hear  of  it,  declines  the  match,  having  no 
idea  that  Glycerium  is  really  his  own  daughter.  Simo,  however,  in 
order  to  test  his  son’s  feelings,  resolves  to  pretend  that  the  marriage- 
day  is  fixed.  Meeting  Pamphilus  in  the  town,  he  desires  him  to  go 
home  and  prepare  for  the  wedding,  which  is  to  take  place  imme- 
diately. In  his  perplexity,  the  youth  has  recourse  to  his  servant 
Davus,  who,  having  heard  of  the  refusal  of  Chremes,  suspects  the  de- 
sign of  Simo.  At  this  conjuncture,  Charinus,  a friend  of  Pamphilus, 
who  is  enamored  of  Philumena,  but  has  been  rejected  by  her  father, 
entreats  Pamphilus  to  put  off  the  marriage,  for  at  least  a few  days. 
Disclosing  his  own  aversion  to  the  match,  Pamphilus  readily  engages 
to  do  this.  In  order  the  more  effectually  to  break  it  off,  Davus 
advises  Pamphilus  to  pretend  a readiness  to  comply  with  his  father’s 
wishes,  supposing  that  of  course  Chremes  will  steadily  persist  in  his 
refusal.  Pamphilus  does  as  he  is  advised,  on  which  Simo  again  ap- 
plies to  Chremes,  who,  after  some  entreaty,  gives  his  consent.  Just? 
at  this  conjuncture,  Glycerium  is  delivered  of  a son;  and  by  the  ad- 
vice of  Davus,  it  is  laid  before  the  door  of  Simo’s  house.  Chremes 
happening  to  see  it  there,  and  ascertaining  that  Pamphilus  is  its  fa- 
ther, again  refuses  to  give  him  his  daughter.  At  this  moment,  Crito, 
a native  of  Andros,  arrives,  who,  being  a relative  of  Chrysis,  has  come 
to  Athens  to  look  after  her  property.  Through  him,  Chremes  dis- 
covers that  Glycerium  is  no  other  than  his  long-lost  daughter,  Pasib- 
ula ; on  which  he  consents  to  her  immediate  marriage  with  Pam- 
])hilus,  who  promises  Charinus  that  he  will  use  his  best  endeavors  to 
obtain  for  him  the  hand  of  Philumena. 


THE  TITLE  OF  THE  PLAY. 


Performed  at  the  Megalensian  Games  M.  Fulvius  and 
M.  Glabrio  being  Curule  JEdiles.^  Ambivius  Turpio  and 
Lucius  Atilius  Prsenestinus^  performed  it.  Flaccus,  the 
freedman  of  Claudius,'^  composed  the  music,  to  a pair  of 
trebfe  flutes  and  bass  flutes^  alternately.  And  it  is  entirely 

^ The  Megalensian  Games) — These  games  were  instituted  at  home 
in  honor  of  the  Goddess  Cybele,  when  her  statue  was  brought  thitlier 
from  Pessinum,  in  Asia  Minor,  by  Scipio  Nasica ; they  were  so  called 
from  the  Greek  title  MeydAr/  “the  Great  Mother.”  They 

were  called  Megalesia  or  Megalensia,  indifferently.  A very  interesting 
account  of  the  origin  of  these  games  will  be  found  in  the  Fasti  of  Ovid. 
B.  iv.  1.  194,  et  seq. 

^ Being  Curule  JEdiles) — Among  the  other  offices  of  the  Aldiles  at 
Rome,  it  was  their  duty  to  preside  at  the  public  games,  and  to  provide 
the  necessary  dramatic  representations  for  the  Theatre,  by  making  con- 
tracts with  the  Poets  and  Actors. 

^ Ambivius  Turpio  and  Lucius  Atilius  Preenestinus') — These  persons 
were  the  heads  or  managers  of  the  company  of  actors  who  performed 
the  Play,  and  as  such  it  was  their  province  to  make  the  necessary  con- 
tracts with  the  Curule  Aldiles.  They  were  also  actors  themselves,  and 
usually  took  the  leading  characters.  Ambivius  Turpio  seems  to  have 
been  a favorite  with  the  Roman  public,  and  to  have  performed  for  many 
years  ; of  L.  Atilius  Pra3nestinus  nothing  is  known. 

^ Freedman  of  Claudius) — According  to  some,  the  words,  “Flaccus 
Claudi”  mean  “ the  son  of  Claudius.”  It  is,  however,  more  generally 
thought  that  it  is  thereby  meant  that  he  was  the  freedman  or  liberated 
slave  of  some  Roman  noble  of  the  family  of  the  Claudii. 

^ Treble  flutes  and  bass  flutes) — The  history  of  ancient  music, 
and  especially  that  relative  to  the  “tibiae,”  “pipes”  or  “flutes,”  is 
replete  with  obscurity.  It  is  not  agreed  what  are  the  meanings  of 
the  respective*  terms,  but  in  the  present  Translation  the  following 
theory  has  been  adopted:  The  words  “dextrae”  and  “sinistrae”  denote 
the  kind  of  flute,  the  former  being  treble,  the  latter  bass  flutes,  or,  as 
they  were  sometimes  called,  “incentiva)”  or  “ succentiv^ ;”  though  it 
has  been  thought  by  some  that  they  were  so  called  because  the  former 
were  held  with  the  right  hand,  the  latter  with  the  left.  When  two 


4 


THE  TITLE. 


Grecian.  1 Published — M.  Marcellus  and  Cneius  Sulpicius 
being  Consuls.'-^ 


treble  flutes  or  two  bass  flutes  were  played  upon  at  the  ^ 

were  called  “ tibi®  pares  but  when  one  was  dextra  and  the  other 
“ sinistra,”  “ tibi®  impares.”  Hence  the  words  paribus  dextns  et 
sinistris,”  would  mean  alternately  with  treble  flutes  and  bass  flutes. 
Two  “tibi®”were  often  played  upon  by  one  performer  at  the  same 
time  For  a specimen  of  a Roman  “ tibicen”  or  “ piper,  see  the  las. 
scene  of  the  Stichus  of  Iflautus.  Some  curious  information  relative  to 
the  pipers  of  Rome  and  the  legislative  enactments  respecting  them  will 
be  found  in  the  Fasti  of  Ovid,  B.  vi.  1.  653,  ct  seq. 

1 It  is  entirely  Grecian)— This  means  that  the  scene  is  in  Greece, 

and  that  it  is  of  the  kind  called  “ palliata,”  as  representing  the  manneis 
of  the  Greeks  who  wore  the  “pallium,”  or  outer  cloak;  wher^s  th 
RomLrTore  the  “toga.”  In^he  Prologue,  Terence  states  that  he 
borrowed  it  from  the  Greek  of  Menander.  _ 

2 Being  Consuls) — M.  Claudius  Marcellus  and  C.  Sulpicius 
Consuls  in  the  year  from  the  building  of  Rome  586,  and  b.c.  167. 


ANDRIA; 

THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


THE  SUMMARY  OF  C.  SULITTIUS  APOLLINARIS. 

Pamphilus  seduces  Glycerium,  wrongfully  supposed  to  be  a sister  of  a 
Courtesan,  an  Andrian  by  birth ; and  she  having  become  pregnant, 
he  gives  his  word  that  she  shall  be  his  wife ; but  his  father  has  en- 
gaged for  him  another,  the  daughter  of  Chremes ; and  when  he  dis- 
covers the  intrigue  he  pretends  that  the  nuptials  are  about  to  take 
place,  desiring  to  learn  what  intentions  his  son  may  have.  By  the 
advice  of  Davus,  Pamphilus  does  not  resist ; but  Chremes,  as  soon  as 
he  has  seen  the  little  child  born  of  Glycerium,  breaks  off  the  match, 
and  declines  him  for  a son-in-law.  Afterward,  this  Glycerium,  un- 
expectedly discovered  to  he  his  own  daughter,  he  bestows  as  a wife 
on  Pamphilus,  the  other  on  Charinus. 


THE  PROLOGUE. 

The  Poet,  when  first  he  applied  his  mind  to  writing,  thought 
that  the  only  duty  which  devolved  on  him  was,  that  the 
Plays  he  should  compose  might  please  the  public.  But  he  per- 
ceives that  it  has  fallen  out  entirely  otherwise ; for  he  is  wasting 
his  labor  in  writing  Prologues,  not  for  the  purpose  of  relating 
the  plot,  but  to  answer  the  slanders  of  a malevolent  old  Poet.^ 
Now  I beseech  you,  give  your  attention  to  the  thing  which 
they  impute  as  a fault.  Menander  composed  the  Andrian^ 

^ A malevolent  old  Poet') — Ver.  7.  He  alludes  to  Luscus  Lanuvinus, 
or  Lavinius,  a Comic  Poet  of  his  time,  but  considerably  his  senior.  He 
is  mentioned  by  Terence  in  all  his  Prologues  except  that  to  the  Hecyra, 
and  seems  to  have  made  it  the  business  of  his  life  to  run  down  his  pro- 
ductions and  discover  faults  in  them. 

^ Composed  the  Andrian) — Ver.  9.  This  Play,  like  that  of  our  au- 
thor, took  its  name  from  the  Isle  of  Andros,  one  of  the  Cyclades  in  the 
-®gcan  Sea,  where  Glycerium  is  supposed  to  have  been  born.  Do- 
natus,  the  Commentator  on  Terence,  informs  us  that  the  first  Scene  of 
this  Play  is  almost  a literal  translation  from  the  Perinthian  of  Menander, 


6 


ANDRIA ; 


[Act  I. 


and  the  Perinthian.^  lie  who  knows  either  of  them  well, 
will  know  them  both;  they  are  in  plot  not  very  different, 
and  yet  they  have  been  composed  in  different  language  and 
style.  What  suited,  he  confesses  he  has  transferred  into 
the  Andrian  from  the  Perinthian,  and  has  employed  them 
as  his  own.  These  parties  censure  this  proceeding;  and  on 
this  point  they  differ  from  him^  that  Plays  ought  not  to  be 
mixed  up  together.  By  being  thus  knowing,  do  they  not 
show  that  they  know  nothing  at  all?  For  while  they  are 
censuring  him,  they  are  censuring  Nsevius,  Plautus,  and 
Ennius,^  whom  our  Poet  has  for  his  precedents ; whose  care- 
lessness he  prefers  to  emulate,  rather  than  the  mystifying  care- 
fulness^  of  those  parties.  Therefore,  I advise  them  to  be  quiet 
in  future,  and  to  cease  to  slander;  that  they  may  not  be 
made  acquainted  with  their  own  misdeeds.  Be  well  disposed, 
then  ; attend  with  unbiased  mind,  and  consider  the  matter, 
that  you  may  determine  what  hope  is  left ; whether  the  Plays 
which  he  shall  in  future  compose  anew,  are  to  be  witnessed, 
or  are  rather  to  be  driven  off  the  stage. 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Simo  and  Sosia,  followed  hy  Servants  carrying 
2')rovisions. 

Simo  {to  the  Servants.)  Do  you  carry  those  things  away 
in-doors;  begone.  {Beclconing  to  Sosia.)  Sosia,  just  step 
here  ; I want  a few  words  with  you. 

in  which  the  old  man  was  represented  as  discoursing  with  his  wife  just 
as  Simo  does  here  with  Sosia.  In  the  Andrian  of  Menander,  the  old 
man  opened  with  a soliloquy. 

^ And  the  Perinthian) — Ver.  9.  This  Play  was  so  called  from  Perin- 
thus,  a town  of  Thrace,  its  heroine  being  a native  of  that  place. 

2 Ncevius.,  Plautus.,  and  Ennius) — Ver.  18.  Ennius  was  the  oldest  of 
these  three  Poets.  Nsevius  a contemporary  of  Plautus.  See  a probable 
allusion  to  his  misfortunes  in  the  Miles  Gloriosus  of  Plautus,  1.  211. 

3 The  mystifying  carefulness) — Ver.  21.  By  “ obscuram  diligentiam” 
lie  means  that  formal  degree  of  precision  which  is  productive  of  ob- 
scurity. 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


•c.  I.] 


SosiA.  Consider  it  as  said  ; that  these  things  arc  to  be  taken 
care  of,  I suppose.^ 

Sim.  No,  it’s  another  matter. 

Sos.  AVhat  is  there  that  my  ability  can  etfect  for  you  more 
than  this  ? 

SiM.  There’s  no  need  of  that  ability  in  the  matter  which  I 
have  in  hand ; but  of  those  qualities  which  I have  ever  known 
as  existing  in  you,  fidelity  and  secrecy. 

Sos.  I await  your  will. 

Sim.  Since  I purchased  you,  you  know  that,  from  a little 
child,  your  servitude  with  me  has  always  been  easy  and  light. 
From  a slave  I made  you  my  freedman  for  this  reason,  be- 
cause you  served  me  with  readiness.  The  greatest  recompense 
that  I possessed,  I bestowed  upon  you. 

Sos.  I bear  it  in  mind. 

Sim.  I am  not  changed, 

Sos.  If  I have  done  or  am  doing  aught  that  is  pleasing  to 
you,  Simo,  I am  glad  that  it  has  been  done  ; and  that  the 
same  has  been  gratifying  to  you,  I consider  sufficient  .thanks. 
But  this  is  a cause  of  uneasiness  to  me ; for  the  recital  is,  as 
it  were,  a censure^  to  one  forgetful  of  a kindness.  But  tell 
me,  in  one  word,  what  it  is  that  you  want  with  me. 

Sim.  I’ll  do  so.  In  the  first  place,  in  this  affair  I give  you 
notice ; this,  which  you  suppose  to  be  such,  is  not  a real  mar- 
riage. 

Sos.  Why  do  you  pretend  it  then 

Sim.  You  shall  hear  all  the  matter  from  the  beginning; 
by  that  means  you’ll  be  acquainted  with  both  my  son’s  mode 


^ Are  to  he  taken  care  of^  I suppose) — Yer.  30.  “ Neinpe  ut  curentui* 
recte  hsec.”  Colman  here  remarks  ; “ Madame  Dacier  v/ill  have  it  that 
Simo  here  makes  use  of  a kitchen  term  in  the  word  ‘ curentur.’  I be- 
lieve it  rather  means  ‘to  take  care  of’  any  thing  generally;  and  at  the 
conclusion  of  this  very  scene,  Sosia  uses  the  word  again,  speaking  of 
things  very  foreign  to  cookery,  ‘ Sat  est,  curabo.’ ” 

^ To  be  my  freedman) — Yer.  37.  “Libertus”  was  the  name  given  to 
a slave  set  at  liberty  by  his  master.  A “libertinus”  was  the  son  of  a 
“libertus.” 

^ As  it  were  a censure) — Yer.  43.  Among  the  Greeks  (whose  manners 
and  sentiments  are  supposed  to  be  depicted  in  this  Play)  it  was  a maxim 
that  he  who  did  a kindness  should  forget  it,  while  he  who  received  it 
should  keep  it  in  memory.  Sosia  consequently  feels  uneasy,  and  con- 
siders the  remark  of  his  master  in  the  light  of  a reproach. 


.8 


ANDRI A ; 


[Act  X. 


of  life  and  my  own  design,  and  what  I want  you  to  do  in  this 
alfair.  For  after  he  had  passed  youthfulness,  ^ Sosia,  and  had 
obtained  free  scope  of  living,  (for  before,  how  could  you  know 
or  understand  his  disposition,  while  youthful  age,  fear,  and  a 
master^  were  checking  him  ?) 

Sos.  That’s  true. 

What  all  young  men,  for  the  most  part,  do, — devote 
their  attention  to  some  particular  pursuit,  either  to  training 
horses  or  dogs  for  hunting,  or  to  the  philosophers;^  in  not  one 
of  these  did  he  engage  in  particular  beyond  the  rest,  and  yet 
in  all  of  them  in  a moderate  degree.  I was  pleased. 

Sos.  Not  without  reason ; for  this  I deem  in  life  to  be  es- 
pecially advantageous ; that  one  do  nothing  to  excess.^ 

Sim.  Such  was  his  mode  of  life;  readily  to  bear  and  to 
comply  with  all;  with  whomsoever  he  was  in  company,  to 
them  to  resign  himself ; to  devote  himself  to  their  pursuits ; 
at  variance  with  no  one ; never  preferring  himself  to  them. 
Thus  most  readily  you  may  acquire  praise  without  envy,  and 
gain  friends. 

Sos.  He  has  wisely  laid  down  his  rule  of  life ; for  in  these 
days  obsequiousness  begets  friends ; sincerity,  dislike. 

• Si:\i.  Aieanwhile,  three  years  ago,^  a certain  woman  from 

^ After  lie  had  passed  from  youth  fulness') — Ver.  51.  “Ephebus”  was 
the  name  given  to  a youth  when  between  the  ages  of  sixteen  and 
twenty. 

2 And  a master) — Yer.  54.  See  the  Notes  to  the  Translation  of  the 
Bacchides  of  Plautus,  1.  109,  where  Lydus,  a slave,  appears  as  the 
“ ptedagogus,”  or  ‘‘magister,”  of  Pistoclerus. 

^ Or  to  the  philosophers) — Ver.  57.  It  was  the  custom  in  Greece  with 
all  young  men  of  free  birth  to  apply  themselves  to  the  study  of  philos- 
ophy, of  course  mth  zeal  proportioned  to  the  love  of  learning  in  each. 
They  each  adopted  some  particular  sect,  to  which  they  attached  them- 
selves. There  is  something  sarcastic  here,  and  indeed  not  very  re- 
spectful to  the  “ philosophers,”  in  coupling  them  as  objects  of  attraction 
with  horses  and  hounds. 

Nothing  to  excess) — Yer.  61.  “Ne  quid  nimis.”  This  was  one  of 
the  three  sentences  which  were  inscribed  in  golden  letters  in  the  Temple 
of  Apollo  at  Delphi.  The  two  others  were  “ Know  thyself,”  and  “ Mis- 
ery is  the  consequence  of  debt  and  discord.”  Sosia  seems  from  the 
short  glimpse  we  have  of  him  to  have  been  a retailer  of  old  saws  and 
proverbs.  He  is  unfortunately  only  a Protatic  or  introductory  charac- 
ter, as  we  lose  sight  of  him  after  this  Act. 

^ Meanwhile^  three  years  ago) — Yer.  69.  The  following  remark  of 
Donatus  on  this  passage  is  quoted  by  Cohn  an  for  its  curiosity.  “The 


Sc.  I.] 


THE  EAIR  ANDRIAN. 


D 


Andros  removed  hither  into  this  neighborhood,  driven  by  pov- 
erty and  the  neglect  of  her  relations,  of  surpassing  beauty  and 
in  the  bloom  of  youth. 

Sos.  Ah!  I’m  afraid  that  this  Andrian  will  bring  some 
mischief. 

Sim.  At  first,  in  a modest  way,  she  passed  her  life  with 
thriftiness  and  in  hardship,  seeking  a livelihood  with  her  wool 
and  loom.  But  after  an  admirer  made  advances,  promising 
Iier  a recompense,  first  one  and  then  another ; as  the  disposi- 
tion of  all  mankind  has  a downward  tendency  from  industry 
toward  pleasure,  she  accepted  their  proposals,  and  then  began 
to  trade  upon  her  beauty.  Those  who  then  were  her  admirers, 
by  chance,  as  it  often  happens,  took  my  son  thither  that  he 
might  be  in  their  company.  Forthwith  I said  to  myself,  He 
is  surely  caught;  he  is  smitten.”^  In  the  morning  I used  to 
observe  their  servant-boys  coming  or  going  away;  I used  to 
make  inquiry,  Here,  my  lad,  tell  me,  will  you,  who  had 
Chrysis  yesterday?”  for  that  was  the  name  of  the  Andrian 
(touching  SosiA  on  the  arm), 

Sos.  I understand. 

Sim.  Phsedrus,  or  Clinias,  or  Niceratus,  they  used  to  say; 
for  these  three  then  loved  her  at  the  same  time.  “ Well  now, 
what  did  Pamphilus  do  f “ What  ? He  gave  his  contribu- 
tion ;2  he  took  part  in  the  dinner.”  Just  so  on  another  day  I 
made  inquiry,  but  I discovered  nothing  whatever  that  affected 
Pamphilus.  In  fact,  I thought  him  sufficiently  proved,  and 
a great  pattern  of  continence  ; for  he  who  is  brought  into 

Author  lias  artfully  said  three  years,  when  he  might  have  given  a 
longer  or  a shorter  period ; since  it  is  probable  that  the  woman  might 
have  lived  modestly  one  year ; set  up  the  trade  the  next ; and  died  the 
third.  In  the  first  year,  therefore,  Pamphilus  knew  nothing  of  the 
family  of  Chrysis  ; in  the  second,  he  became  acquainted  with  Glyceri- 
um;  and  in  the  third,  Glycerium  marries  Pamphilus,  and  finds  her 
parents.’* 

^ He  is  smitten) — Ver.  78.  “Habet,”  literally  ‘Hie  has  it.”  This 
was  the  expression  used  by  the  spectators  at  the  moment  when  a Glad- 
iator was  wounded  by  his  antagonist.  In  the  previous  line,  in  the  words 
“captus  est,”  a figurative  allusion  is  made  to  the  “retiarius,”  a Gladi- 
ator who  was  provided  with  a net,  with  which  he  endeavored  to  entan- 
gle his  opponent. 

^ Gave  his  contribution) — Ver.  88.  “ Symbolam.”  The  “symbolae,” 
“shot”  at  picnic  or  club  entertainments,  are  more  than  once  alluded  to 
in  the  Notes  to  the  Translation  of  Plautus. 

A 2 


10 


ANDHIA  ; 


[Act  1. 


contact  with  dispositions  of  that  sort,  and  his  feelings  arc 
not  aroused  even  under  such  circumstances,  you  may  be  sure 
that  he  is  already  capable  of  undertaking  the  governance  of 
his  own  life.  This  pleased  me,  and  every  body  with  one  voice 
began  to  say  all  kinds  of  flattering  things,  and  to  extol  my 
good  fortune,  in  having  a son  endowed  with  such  a disposh 
tion.  What  need  is  there  of  talking?  Chremes,  influenced 
l)y  this  report,  came  to  me  of  his  own  accord,  to  offer  his  only 
daughter  as  a wife  to  my  son,  with  a very  large  portion.  It 
pleased  me  ; I betrothed  him  ; this  Avas  the  day  appointed  for 
the  nuptials. 

Sos.  What  then  stands  in  the  way?  Why  should  they  not 
take  place  ? 

Sim.  You  shall  hear.  In  about  a few  days  after  these 
things  had  been  agreed  on,  Chrysis,  this  neighbor,  dies. 

Sos.  Bravo ! You’ve  made  me  happy.  I Avas  afraid  for 
him  on  account  of  Chrysis. 

Sim.  Then  my  son  was  often  there,  with  those  who  had 
admired  Chrysis ; with  them  he  took  charge  of  the  funeral ; 
sorrowful,  in  the  mean  time,  he  sometimes  wept  ivith  them 
in  condolence.  Then  that  pleased  me.  Thus  I reflected: 
‘‘He  by  reason  of  this  slight  intimacy  takes  her  death  so 
much  to  heart;  what  if  he  himself  had  wooed  her?  What 
will  he  do  for  me  his  father?”  All  these  things  I took  to 
be  the  duties  of  a humane  disposition  and  of  tender  feelings. 
Why  do  I detain  you  with  many  icords?  Even  I myself,^ 
for  his  sake,  went  forth  to  the  funeral,  as  yet  suspecting  no 
liarm. 

Sos.  Ha ! what  is  this  ? 

Sim.  You  shall  know.  She  is  brought  out ; we  proceed. 
In  the  mean  time,  among  the  females  who  were  there 
present,  I saw  by  chance  one  young  woman  of  beauteous 
form. 

Sos.  Very  likely. 

Sim.  And  of  countenance,  Sosia,  so  modest,  so  charming, 
that  nothing  could  surpass.  As  she  appeared  to  me  to  lament 
beyond  the  rest,  and  as  she  was  of  a figure  handsome  and 
genteel  beyond  the  other  women,  I approached  the  female  at- 

^ Even  I myself) — Yer.  110.  Cooke  remarks  here  : “ A complaisant 
father,  to  go  to  the  funeral  of  a courtesan,  merely  to  oblige  his 
son !” 


Sc.  L] 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


II 


tendants;^  I inquired  who  she  was.  They  said  that  she  was 
the  sister  of  Chrysis.  It  instantly  struck  my  mind : Ay, 
ay,  this  is  it ; hence  those  tears,  hence  that  sympathy.” 

80s.  How  I dread  what  you  are  coming  to ! 

* Sim.  The  funeral  procession  meanwhile  advances;  wc 
follow ; wc  come  to  the  burying-place.^  She  is  placed  upon 
the  pile ; they  weep.  In  the  mean  time,  this  sister,  whom  I 
mentioned,  approached  the  flames  too  incautiously,  with  (con- 
siderable danger.  There,  at  that  moment,  Pamphilus,  in  his 
extreme  alarm,  discovers  his  well-dissembled  and  long-hidden 
passion;  he  runs  up,  clasps  the  damsel  by  the  waist.  “My 
Glycerium,”  says  he,  “what  are  you  doing?  Why  are  you 
going  to  destroy  yourself?”  Then  she,  so  that  you  might 
easily  recognize  their  habitual  attachment,  weeping,  threw 
herself  back  upon  him — how  affectionately ! 

Sos.  What  do  you  say  ? 

Sim.  I returned  thence  in  anger,  and  hurt  at  heart : and  yet 
there  was  not  sufficient  ground  for  reproving  him.  He  might 
say;  “What  have  I done?  How  have  I deserved  this^  or 
offended,  father  ? She  who  wished  to  throw  herself  into  the 
flames,  I prevented  ; I saved  her.”  The  defense  is  a reasona- 
ble one. 

Sos.  You  judge  aright ; for  if  you  censure  him  who  has 
assisted  to  preserve  life,  what  are  you  to  do  to  him  Vvdio  causes 
loss  or  misfortune  to  it?  ■ 

Sim.  Chremes  comes  to  me  next  day,  exclaiming:  “Dis- 
graceful conduct !” — that  he  had  ascertained  that  Pamphilus 
was  keeping  this  foreign  woman  as  a wife.  I steadfastly  de- 
nied that  to  be  the  fact.  He  insisted  that  it  was  the  fact.  In 
short,  I then  left  him  refusing  to  bestow  his  daughter. 

Sos.  Did  not  you  then  reprove  your  son? 

Sim.  Not  even  this  was  a cause  sufficiently  strong  for  cen- 
suring him. 

Sos.  How  so  ? Tell  me. 


^ The  female  attendanU) — Yer.  123.  “ Pedisseqiise.”  These ‘‘pedis- 
sequie,”  or  female  attendants,  are  frequently  alluded  to  in  the  Plays  of 
Plautus.  See  tlie  Notes  to  Bohn’s  Translation. 

^ To  the  burying-j)lace) — Ver.  128.  “ Sepulcrum”  strictly  means,  the 
tomb  or  place  for  burial,  but  here  the  funeral  pile  itself.  When  the 
bones  were  afterward  buried  on  the  spot  where  they  were  burned,  it  was 
called  “bustum.” 


12 


ANDKIA  ; 


[Aof  I. 


Sim.  You  yourself,  father,”  he  might  say,  ‘Miave  prescribed 
a limit  to  these  proceedings.  The  time  is  near,  when  I must 
live  according  to  the  humor  of  another;  meanwhile,  for  the 
present  allow  me  to  live  according  to  my  own.” 

Sos.  What  room  for  reproving  him,  then,  is  there  left  ? 

SiM.  If  on  account  of  his  amour  he  shall  decline  to  take  a 
wife,  that,  in  the  first  place,  is  an  offense  on  his  part  to  be 
censured.  And  now  for  this  am  I using  my  endeavors,  that, 
by  means  of  the  pretended  marriage,*there  may  be  real  ground 
for  rebuking  him,  if  he  should  refuse ; at  the  same  time,  that 
if  that  rascal  Davus  lias  any  scheme,  he  may  exhaust  it  now, 
Avhile  his  knaveries  can  do  no  harm : who,  I do  believe,  with 
hands,  feet,  and  all  his  might,  will  do  every  thing;  and  more 
for  this,  no  doubt,  that  he  may  do  me  an  ill  turn,  than  to 
oblige  my  son. 

Sos.  For  what  reason  ? 

Sim.  Do  you  ask?  Bad  heart,  bad  disposition.  Whom, 
however,  if  I do  detect But  what  need  is  there  of  talk- 

ing? If  it  should  turn  out,  as  I wish,  that  there  is  no  delay 
on  the  part  of  Pamphilus,  Chremes  remains  to  be  prevailed 
upon  by  me ; and  I do  hope  that  all  will  go  well.  Now  it’s 
your  duty  to  pretend  these  nuptials  cleverly,  to  terrify  Davus ; 
and  watch  my  son,  what  he’s  about,  what  schemes  he  is  plan- 
ning with  him. 

Sos.  ’Tis  enough ; I’ll  take  care ; now  let’s  go  in-doors. 

Sim.  You  go  first;  I’ll  follow.  (Sosia  goes  into  the  house 

Simo.) 

Sim.  {to  himself,)  There’s  no  doubt  but  that  my  son  doesn’t 
wish  for  a wife ; so  alarmed  did  I perceive  Davus  to  be  just 
now,  when  he  heard  that  there  was  going  to  be  a marriage. 
But  the  very  man  is  coming  out  of  the  house.  (Stands 
aside.) 


Scene  II. 

Tinier  Davits  from  the  house  of  Simo. 

Day.  (aloud  to  himself,)  I was  wondering  if  this  matter 
was  to  go  off  thus ; and  was  continually  dreading  wliere  my 


Sc.  11.  J 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


lo 

master’s  good  humor  would  end ; for,  after  he  had  heard  that 
a wife  would  not  be  given  to  his  son,  he  never  uttered  a word 
to  any  one  of  us,  or  took  it  amiss. 

Sim.  {apart^  overhearing  him,)  But  now  he’ll  do  so : and 
that,  I fancy,  not  without  heavy  cost  to  you. 

Dav.  {to  himself.)  He  meant  this,  that  we,  thus  unsus- 
pecting, should  be  led  away  by  delusive  joy ; that  now  in  hope, 
all  fear  being  removed,  we  might  during  our  supineness  be 
surprised,  so  that  there  might  be  no  time  for  planning  a rup- 
ture of  the  marriage.  Plow  clever! 

Sim.  {apart.)  P’he  villain  ! what  does  he  say? 

Dav.  {overhearing  him^  to  himself.)  It’s  my  master,  and  I 
didn’t  see  him. 

Sim.  Davus. 

Dav.  Well,  what  is  it? 

Sim.  Just  step  this  way  to  me. 

Dav.  {to  himself.)  What  does  he  want  ? 

Sim.  What  are  you  saying  ? 

Dav.  About  what  ? 

Sim.  Do  you  ask  the  question  ? There’s  a report  that  my 
son’s  in  love. 

Dav.  The  public  troubles  itself  about  that,^  of  course. 

Sim.  Will  you  attend  to  this,  or  not  ? 

Dav.  Certainly,  I ivill^  to  that. 

Sim.  But  for  me  to  inquire  now  into  these  matters,  were 
the  part  of  a severe  father.  PAr  what  he  has  done  hitherto, 
doesn’t  concern  me  at  all.  So  long  as  his  time  of  life  prompt- 
ed to  that  course,  I allowed  him  to  indulge  his  inclination : 
now  this  day  brings  on  another  mode  of  life,  demands  other 
habits.  From  this  time  forward,  I do  request,  or  if  it  is  rea- 
sonable, I do  entreat  you,  Davus,  that  he  may  now  return  to 
the  right  path. 

Dav.  {aside.)  What  can  this  mean  ? 

Sim.  All  who  are  intriguing  take  it  ill  to  have  a wife  given 
ihem. 

Dav.  So  they  say. 

Sim.  And  if  any  one  has  adopted  a bad  instructor  in  that 

^ Troubles  itself  about  that) — Yer.  185.  He  says  this  contemptuously, 
as  if  it  was  likely  that  the  public  should  take  any  such  great  interest  in 
his  son  as  the  father  would  imply  by  his  remark.  By  thus  saying,  he 
also  avoids  giving  a direct  reply. 


14 


[Act  I. 


course,  he  generally  urges  the  enfeebled  mind  to  pursuits  still 
more  unbecoming. 

Dav.  r faith,  I do  not  comprehend. 

Sim.  No  ? Ha 

Dav.  No — I am  Davus,  not  GEdipus.^ 

Sim.  Of  course  then,  you  wish  me  to  speak  plainly  in  what 
further  I have  to  say. 

Dav.  Certainly,  by  all  means. 

Sim.  If  I this  day  find  out  that  you  are  attempting  any 
trickery  about  this  marriage,  to  the  end  that  it  may  not  take 
place ; or  are  desirous  that  in  this  matter  it  should  be  proved 
how  knowing  you  are ; I’ll  hand  you  over,  Davus,  beaten 
with  stripes,  to  the  mill,^  even  to  your  dying  day,  upon  this 
condition  and  pledge,  that  if  ever  I release  you,  I shall  grind 
in  your  place.  Now,  do  you  understand  this?  Or  not  yet 
even  this? 

Dav.  Yes,  perfectly  : you  have  now  spoken  so  plainly  upon 
the  subject,  you  have  not  used  the  least  circumlocution. 

Sim.  In  any  thing  would  I more  willingly  allow  myself  to 
be  imposed  upon  than  in  this  matter. 

Dav.  Fair  words,  I entreat. 

Sim.  You  are  ridiculing  me : you  don’t  at  all  deceive  me. 
I give  you  warning,  don’t  act  rashly,  and  don’t  say  you  were 
not  warned.  Take  care.  (ShaJcmg  his  stick,  goes  into  the 
house.) 

Scene  III. 


Davus  alone. 

Dav.  {to  himself.)  Assuredly,  Davus,  there’s  no  room  for 
slothfulness  or  inactivity,  so  far  as  I’ve  just  now  ascertained 
the  old  man’s  mind  about  the  marriage;  which  if  it  is  not 
provided  against  by  cunning,  will  be  bringing  either  myself  or 
my  master  to  ruin.  What  to  do,  I am  not  determined ; 
wliether  I should  assist  Pamphilus  or  obey  the  old  man.  If 
I desert  the  former,  I fear  for  his  life ; if  I assist  him,  I dread 

^ Davus,  not  CFidipus) — Ver.  194.  Alluding  to  the  circumstance  of 
Oedipus  alone  being  able  to  solve  the  riddle  of  the  Sphynx. 

“ To  the  mill) — Ver.  199.  The  “ pistrinum,”  or  ‘Tiand-mill,”  for  grind- 
ing corn,  was  used  as  a mode  of  punishment  for  refractory  slaves.  See 
the  Notes  to  the  Translation  of  Plautus. 


IVJ 


THE  FAIR  ANDREVN. 


15 


the  other’s  threats,  on  whom  it  will  be  a difficult  matter  to 
impose.  In  the  first  place,  he  has  now  found  out  about  this 
amour ; with  hostile  feelings  he  watches  me,  lest  I should  be 
devising  some  trickery  against  the  marriage.  If  he  discovers 
it.  Fin  undone ; or  even  if  he  chooses  to  allege  any  pretext, 
whether  rightfully  or  wrongfully,  he  will  consign  me  head- 
long to  the  mill.  To  these  evils  this  one  is  besides  added 
for  me.  This  Andrian,  whether  she  is  his  wife,  or  whether 
his  mistress,  is  pregnant  by  Pamphilus.  It  is  worth  while 
to  hear  their  effrontery ; for  it  is  an  undertaking  worthy  of 
those  in  their  dotage,  not  of  those  who  dote  in  love;^  what- 
ever she  sliall  bring  forth,  they  have  resolved  to  rear  and 
they  are  now  contriving  among  themselves  a certain  scheme, 
that  she  is  a citizen  of  Attica.  There  was  formerly  a certain 
old  man  of  this  place,  a merchant;  he  was  shipwrecked 
off  the  Isle  of  Andros;  he  died.  They  say  that  there,  the 
father  of  Chrysis,  on  that  occasion,  sheltered  this  girl,  thrown 
on  shore,  an  orphan,  a little  child.  What  nonsense!  To 
myself  at  least  it  isn’t  very  probable  ; the  fiction  pleases  them, 
however.  But  Mysis  is  coming  out  of  the  house.  Now  I’ll 
betake  hence  to  the  Forum, ^ that  I may  meet  with 

Pamphilus,  lest  his  father  should  take  him  by  surprise  about 
this  m.atter.  (Exit, 

Scene  IY. 

Enter  Mysis  from  the  house  of  Glycerium. 

Mys.  (speaking  at  the  door  to  Archylis  ivithin,)  I’ve  heard 

^ Those  in  their  dotage^  rot  those  irho  dote  hi  love) — Yer.  218.  There 
is  a jingle  intended  in  this  line,  in  the  resemblance  between  amenti- 
um,”  “mad  persons,”  and  “amantium,”  “lovers.” 

^ They  have  resolved  to  rear) — Ver.  219.  This  passage  alludes  to  the 
custom  among  the  Greeks  of  laying  new-born  children,  on  the  ground, 
upon  which  the  father,  or  other  person  who  undertook  the  care  of  the 
child,  lifted  it  from  the  ground,  “ tollebat.”  In  case  no  one  took  charge . 
of  the  child,  it  was  exposed,  which  was  very  frequently  done  in  the  case 
of  female  children.  Plato  was  the  first  to  inveigh  against  this  barbar- 
ous practice.  It  is  frequently  alluded  to  in  the  Plays  of  Plautus. 

” Hence  to  the  Forum) — Ver.  226.  Colman  has  the  following  remark  : 
“The  Forum  is  frequently  spoken  of  in  the  Comic  Authors  ; and  from 
various  passages  in  which  Terence  mentions  it,  it  may  be  collected  that 
it  was  a public  place,  serving  the  several  purposes  of  a market,  the  seat 
<.;f  the  courts  of  justice,  a public  walk,  and  an  exchange.” 


16 


ANDRIA ; 


[Act  I. 


you  already,  Arcliylis ; you  request  Lesbia  to  be  fetched. 
Keally,  upon  my  faith,  she  is  a wine-bibbing^  and  a rash 
woman,  and  not  sufficiently  trustworthy  for  you  to  commit 
to  her  care  a female  at  her  first  delivery ; is  she  still  to  be 
brought?  (^She  receives  an  answer  from  within^  and  comes 
forward.)  Do  look  at  the  inconsiderateness  of  the  old 
woman ; because  she  is  her  pot-companion.  Ye  Gods,  I 
do  entreat  you,  give  her  ease  in  her  delivery,  and  to  that 
woman  an  opportunity  of  making  her  mistakes  elsewhere 
in  preference.  But  why  do  I see  Pamphilus  so  out  of 
spirits?  I fear  what  it  may  be.  I’ll  wait,  that  I may 
know  whether  this  sorrow  portends  any  disaster.  {Stands 
apart.) 


Scene  Y. 

Enter  Pamphilus,  wringing  his  hands. 

Pam.  {to  himself)  Is  it  humane  to  do  or  to  devise  this? 
Is  this  the  duty  of  a father? 

Mys.  {apart.)  What  does  this  mean  ? 

Pam.  {to  himself.)  O,  by  our  faith  in  the  Gods!  what  is, 
if  this  is  not,  an  indignity?  He  had  resolved  that  he  him- 
self would  give  me  a wife  to-day  ; ought  I not  to  have  known 
this  beforehand?  Ought  it  not  to  have  been  mentioned  pre- 
viously ? 

Mys.  {apart.)  Wretched  me!  What  language  do  I hear? 

Pam.  {to  himself.)  What  does  Chremes  do  ? Pie  who  had  de- 
clared that  he  would  not  intrust  his  daughter  to  me  as  a 
wife ; because  he  himself  sees  me  unchanged  he  has  changed. 
Thus  perversely  does  he  lend  his  aid,  that  he  may  withdraw 
w'retched  me  from  Glycerium.  If  this  is  effected,  I am  utterly 
undone.  That  any  man  should  be  so  unhappy  in  love,  or  so 
unfortunate  as  I am!  Oh,  faith  of  Gods  and  men!  shall  I 
by  no  device  be  able  to  escape  this  alliance  with  Chremes? 
In  how  many  ways  am  I contemned,  and  held  in  scorn? 
Every  thing  done,  and  concluded ! Alas ! once  rejected  I am 
sought  again ; for  what  reason  ? Unless  perhaps  it  is  this, 

^ Wine-hibhing) — Yer.  229.  The  nurses  and  midwives  of  antiquity 
seem  to  have  been  famed  for  their  tippling  propensities.  In  some  of 
the  Plays  of  Plautus  we  do  not  find  them  spared. 


Sc.  y.] 


THE  FAIU  ANDRIAN. 


17 


which  I suspect  it  is:  they  are  rearing  some  monster/  and 
as  she  can  not  be  pushed  off  upon  any  one  else,  they  have 
recourse  to  me. 

Mys.  (apart)  This  language  has  terrified  wretched  me  with 
apprehension. 

PA]\r.  (to  himself.)  But  what  am  I to  say  about  my  father? 
Alas!  that  he  should  so  thoughtlessly  conclude  an  affair  of 
such  importance!  Passing  me  in  the  Forum  just  now,  he 
said,  ^^Pamphilus,  you  must  be  married  to-day:  get  ready; 
be  ofi‘ home.”  He  seemed  to  me  to  say  this:  ^^Be  off  this 
instant,  and  go  hang  yourself.”  I was  amazed ; think  you 
that  I was  able  to  utter  a single  word,  or  any  excuse,  even 
a frivolous,  false,  or  lame  one?  I was  speechless.  But  if 
any  one  were  to  ask  me  now  what  I would  have  done,  if  I 
had  known  this  sooner,  ivhy^  I would  have  done  any  thing 
rather  than  do  this.  But  now,  what  course  shall  I first 
adopt?  So  many  cares  beset  me,  which  rend  my  mind  to 
pieces ; love,  sympathy  for  her,  the  worry  of  this  marriage ; 
then,  respect  for  my  father,  who  has  ever,  until  now,  with 
such  an  indulgent  disposition,  allowed  me  to  do  whatever  was 
agreeable  to  my  feelings.  Ought  I to  oppose  him  ? Ah  me ! 
1 am  in  uncertainty  what  to  do. 

Mys.  (apart)  Pm  wretchedly  afraid  how  tins  uncertainty 
is  to  terminate.  But  now  there’s  an  absolute  necessity,  either 
for  him  to  speak  to  her,  or  for  me  to  speak  to  him  about  her. 
"While  the  mind  is  in  suspense,  it  is  swayed  by  a slight  impulse 
one  way  or  the  other. 

Pam.  (overhearing  her.)  Who  is  it  speaking  hero?  (Seeing 
her.)  Mysis  ? Good-morrow  to  you. 

Mys.  Oh  ! Good-morrow  to  you,  Pamphilus. 

Pam.  How  is  she  ? 

Mys.  Do  you  ask  ? She  is  oppressed  with  grief,^  and  on 
this  account  the  poor  thing  is  anxious,  because  some  time 


^ Rearing  some  monster) — Ver.  250.  Aliquid  monstri  alunt.”  Ma- 
dame Dacier  and  some  other  Commentators  give  these  words  the  rath- 
er far-fetched  meaning  of  “They  are  hatching  some  plot.”  Donatus, 
with  much  more  probability,  supposes  him  to  refer  to  the  daughter 
of  Chremes,  whom,  as  the  young  women  among  the  Greeks  were 
l)rought  up  in  great  seclusion,  we  may  suppose  Pamphilus  never  to  have 
seen. 

^ She  is  oppressed  with  grief) — Ver.  268.  “Laborat  a doTore.” 


ANDRIA ; 


18 


[Act  I.,  Sc.  \\ 


ago  the  marriage  was  arranged  for  this  day.  Then,  too,  she 
fears  this,  that  you  njay  forsake  her. 

Pam.  Ha  ! could  I attempt  that '?  Could  I suffer  her,  poor 
thing,  to  be  deceived  on  my  account?  She,  who  has  con- 
fided to  me  her  affection,  and  her  entire  existence?  She, 
whom  I have  held  especially  dear  to  my  feelings  as  my  wife  ? 
Shall  I suffer  her  mind,  well  and  chastely  trained  and  tutor- 
ed, to  be  overcome  by  poverty  and  corrupted?  I will  not 
do  it. 

Mys.  I should  have  no  fear  if  it  rested  with  yourself  alone ; 
but  whether  you  may  be  able  to  withstand  compulsion 

Pam.  Do  you  deem  me  so  cowardly,  so  utterly  ungrateful, 
inhuman,  and  so  brutish,  that  neither  intimacy,  nor  affection, 
nor  shame,  can  move  or  admonish  me  to  keep  faith  ? 

My^s.  This  one  thing  I know,  that  she  is  deserving  that 
you  should  not  forget  her. 

Pam.  Forget  her?  Oh  Mysis,  Mysis,  at  this  moment 
are  those  words  of  Chrysis  concerning  Glycerin m written  on 
my  mind.  Now  at  the  point  of  death,  she  called  me ; I went 
to  her ; you  had  withdrawn  ; we  were  alone ; she  began  : “ My 
dear  Pamphilus,  you  see  her  beauty  and  her  youth ; and  it  is 
not  unknown  to  you  to  what  extent  both  of  these  are  now 
of  use  to  her,  in  protecting  both  her  chastity  and  her  inter- 
ests. By  this  right  hand  I do  entreat  you,  and  by  your 
good  Genius,^  by  your  own  fidelity,  and  by  her  bereft  condi- 


Colman  has  the  following  remark  upon  this  passage:  “Though  the 
word  ‘ lahorat’  has  tempted  Donatus  and  the  rest  of  the  Commentators 
to  suppose  that  this  sentence  signifies  Glycerium  being  in  labor,  I can 
not  help  concurring  with  Cooke,  that  it  means  simply  that  she  is  weigh- 
ed down  with  grief.  The  words  immediately  subsequent  corroborate 
this  interpretation ; and  at  the  conclusion  of  the  Scene,  when  Mysis 
tells  him  that  she  is  going  for  a midwife,  Pamphilus  hurries  her  away, 
as  he  would  naturally  have  done  here  had  he  understood  by  these  words 
that  her  mistress  was  in  labor.” 

^ By  your  good  Genius) — Ver.  289.  “ Per  Genium  tuum.”  This  was 
a common  expression  with  the  Romans,  and  is  used  by  Horace,  Epis- 
tles, B.  i.,  Ep.  7 : — 

“ Quod  te  per  Genium  dextramque  Deosque  Penates, 

Obsecro,  et  obtestor ” 

The  word  “Genius”  signified  the  tutelary  God  who  w’as  supposed  to 
attend  every  person  from  the  period  of  his  birth.  The  signification  of 
the  word  will  be  found  further  referred  to  in  the  Notes  to  the  Transla- 
tion of  Plautus. 


Act  11.,  Sc.  l.j 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


19 


tion,  do  not  withdraw  yourself  from  her,  or  forsake  her;  if 
I have  loved  you  as  my  own  brother,  or  if  she  has  always 
prized  you  above  all  others,  or  has  been  obedient  to  you  in 
all  things.  You  do  I give  to  her  as  a husband,  friend,  pro- 
tector, father.  This  property  of  mine  do  I intrust  to  you, 
and  commit  to  your  care.”  She  placed  her  in  my  hands; 
that  instant,  death  came  upon  her.  I accepted  her;  having 
accepted,  I will  protect  her. 

Mys.  So  indeed  I hope.  {Moving,) 

Pam.  But  why  are  you  leaving  her  ? 

Mys.  Pm  going  to  fetch  the  midwife.^ 

Pam.  Make  all  haste.  And — do  you  hear? — take  care, 
and  not  one  word  about  the  marriage,  lest  that  too  should  add 
to  her  illness. 

Mys.  I understand.  {Exeunt  severally. 


ACT  THE  SECOND. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Charinus  and  Byrrhia.^ 

Char.  How  say  you,  Byrrhia?  Is  she  to  be  given  in  mar- 
riage to  Pamphilus  to-day  ? 

Byr.  It  is  so. 

Char.  Flow  do  you  know  ? 

^ To  fetch  the  midwife) — Ver.  209.  Cooke  has  the  following  remark 
here:  “Methinks  Mysis  has  loitered  a little  too  much,  considering  the 
business  which  she  was  sent  about ; but  perhaps  Terence  knew  that  some 
women  were  of  such  a temper  as  to  gossip  on  the  way,  though  an  alfair 
of  life  or  death  requires  their  haste.”  Colman  thus  takes  him  to  task 
for  this  observation : ‘‘  This  two-edged  reflection,  glancing  at  once  on 
Terence  and  the  ladies,  is,  I think,  very  ill-founded.  The  delay  of 
Mysis,  on  seeing  the  emotion  of  Pamphilus,  is  very  natural ; and  her 
artful  endeavors  to  interest  Pamphilus  on  behalf  of  her  mistress,  are 
father  marks  of  her  attention  than  neglect.” 

^ Charinus  and  Byrrhia).  We  learn  from  Donatus  that  the  charac- 
ters of  Charinus  and  Byrrhia  were  not  introduced  in  the  work  of  Me- 
nander, but  were  added  to  the  Play  of  Terence,  lest  Philumena’s  being 
left  without  a husband,  on  the  marriage  of  Pamphilus  to  Glycerium, 
should  appear  too  tragical  a circumstance.  Diderot  is  of  opinion  that 
Terence  did  not  improve  his  Play  by  this  addition. 


20 


ANDllIA ; 


[Act  II. 


Btk.  I heard  just  now  from  Davus  at  the  Forum. 

Char.  Woe  unto  wretched  me ! As,  hitherto,  until  now, 
my  mind  has  been  racked  amid  hope  ancl  fear ; so,  since  hope 
has  been  withdrawn,  wearied  with  care,  it  sinks  overwhelmed. 

Byr.  By  my  troth,  Charinus,  since  that  which  you  wish 
can  not  come  to  pass,  prithee,  do  wish  that  which  can. 

Char.  I wish  for  nothing  else  but  Philumena. 

Byr.  Alas ! How  much  better  were  it  for  you  to  endeavor 
to  expel  that  passion  from  your  mind,  than  to  be  saying  that 
by  which  your  desire  is  to  no  purpose  still  more  inflamed. 

Char.  We  all,  when  we  are  well,  with  ease  give  good  ad- 
vice to  the  sick.  If  you  were  in  my  situation,  you  would 
think  otherwise. 

Byr.  Well,  well,  just  as  you  like. 

Char,  {looking  down  the  side  scene,)  But  I see  Pamphilus ; 
I’m  determined  I’ll  try  every  thing  before  I despair. 

Byr.  {aside.)  What  does  he  mean  % 

Char.  I will  entreat  his  own  self;  I will  supplicate  him  *, 
I will  disclose  to  him  my  love.  I think  that  I shall  prevail 
upon  him  to  put  off  the  marriage  for  some  days  at  least;  in 
the  mean  time,  something  will  turn  up,  I trust. 

Byr.  That  something  is  nothing. 

Char.  Byrrhia,  how  seems  it  to  you  ? Shall  I accost  him  ? 

Byr.  Why  notl  Should  you  not  prevail,  that  at  least  he 
may  look  upon  you  as  a gallant  ready  provided  for  him,  if  he 
marries  her. 

Char.  Away  with  you  to  perdition  with  that  vile  sugges- 
tion, you  rascal ! 

Scene  II. 

Enter  Pamphilus. 

Pam.  I espy  Charinus.  {Accosting  him.)  Good-morrow ! 

Char.  O,  good-morrow.  Pamphilus,  I’m  come  to  you, 
seeking  hope,  safety,  counsel,  and  assistance. 

Pam.  I’faith,  I have  neither  time  for  counsel,  nor  resources 
for  assistance.  But  what’s  the  matter  now 

Char.  To-day  you  are  going  to  take  a wife 

Pam.  So  they  say. 

Char.  Pamphilus,  if  you  do  that,  you  behold  me  this  day 
for  the  last  time. 


Sc.  IL] 


THE  FAIR  ANDFJAN, 


21 


Fam.  Wliy  so  ? 

Chak.  Ah  me!  1 dread  to  teil  it;  pritheej  do  you  tell  it, 
Byrrhia. 

Byr.  I’ll  tell  it. 

Fam.  What  is  it  ? 

Byr.  He’s  in  love  with  your  betrothed. 

Fam.  Assuredly  he’s  not  of  my  way  of  thinking.  Come 
now,  tell  me,  have  you  had  any  more  to  do  with  her,  Charinus  ? 

Char.  Oh  Famphilus,  nothing. 

Fam.  How  much  I wish  you  had. 

Char.  Now,  by  our  friendship  and  by  my  alFection,  I do 
beseech  you,  in  the  first  place,  not  to  marry  her. 

Fam.  For  my  own  part  I’ll  use  my  endeavors. 

Char.  But  if  that  can  not  be,  or  if  this  marriage  is  agree- 
able to  you 

Fam.  Agreeable  to  me  ? 

Char.  Fut  it  off  for  some  days  at  least,  wFile  I go  else- 
where, that  I may  not  be  witness. 

Fam.  Now  listen,  once  for  all : I think  it,  Charinus,  to  be 
by  no  means  the  part  of  an  ingenuous  man,  when  he  confers 
nothing,  to  expect  that  it  should  be  considered  as  an  obliga- 
tion on  his  part.  I am  more  desirous  to  avoid  this  match, 
than  you  to  gain  it. 

Char.  You  have  restored  me  to  life. 

Fam.  Now,  if  you  can  do  any  thing,  either  you  yourself,  or 
Byrrhia  here,  manage,  fabricate,  invent,  contrive  some  means^ 
whereby  she  may  be  given  to  you;  this  I shall  aim  at,  how 
she  may  not  be  given  to  me. 

Char.  I am  satisfied. 

Fam.  Most  opportunely  I perceive  Davus,  on  whose  advice 
I have  depended. 

Char,  {turning  to  Byrrhia.)  But  you,  i’faith,  tell  me  no- 
thing,^ except  those  things  which  there  is  no  need  for  know- 
ing. {Pushing  him  away.)  Get  you  gone  from  here. 

Byr.  Certainly  I ivill,  and  with  all  my  heart.  {Exit 

* Tell  me  nothing^, — Yer.  336.  It  has  been  suggested  that  this  refers 
to  Byrrhia’s  dissuading  his  master  from  addressing  Famphilus,  or  else 
to  what  he  has  told  him  concerning  the  intended  marriage.  Wester- 
hovius  thinks  that  Byrrhia  is  just  then  wdiispering  some  trifling  non- 
sense in  his  master’s  ear,  which  he,  occupied  with  more  important 
cares,  i.i  unwilling  to  attend  to. 


22 


ANDRIA; 


[Act  II. 


Scene  III, 

Enter  Davus  in  haste. 

Da  \'.  {not  seeing  Pampiiilus  and  Charinus.)  Ye  gracious 
Gods,  ^yllat  good  news  I bring ! But  where  shall  I find  Pam- 
philus,  that  I may  remove  the  apprehension  in  which  he  now 
is,  and  fill  his  mind  with  joy ? 

Char,  {apart  to  Pamphilus.)  He’s  rejoiced  about  some- 
thing, I don’t  know  what. 

Pam.  {apart.)  It’s  of  no  consequence ; he  hasn’t  yet  heard 
of  these  misfortunes. 

Dav.  {to  himself.)  For  I do  believe  now,  if  he  has  already 
heard  that  a marriage  is  prepared  for  him 

Char,  {apart.)  Don’t  you  hear  him  1 

Dav.  {to  himself.)  He  is  seeking  me  distractedly  all  the  city 
over.  But  where  shall  I look  for  him  ? Or  in  which  direc- 
tion now  first  to  betake  me 

Char,  {apart  to-  Pamphilus.)  Do  you  hesitate  to  accost 
liim  ? 

Day.  {to  himself.)  I have  it.  {Afoving  on.) 

Pam.  Davus,  come  here ! Stop ! 

Dav.  Who’s  the  person  that’s {Turning  round.)  O 

Pamphilus,  you  are  the  very  man  I’m  looking  for.  AVell 
done,  Chariiius ! both  in  the  nick  of  time : I want  you  both. 

Char.  Davus,  I’m  undone ! 

Dav.  Nay  but,  do  hear  this. 

Pam.  I’m  utterly  ruined ! 

Dav.  I know  what  you  are  afraid  of 

Char.  I’faith,  my  life  indeed  is  really  in  danger. 

Dav.  {to  Charinus.)  And  what  you  ai'e  afraid  of  I know. 

l^AM.  My  marriage 

Dav.  As  if  I did  not  know  it? 

1^ai\i.  This  day 

Dav.  Why  keep  dinning  me  ivith  f when  I know  it  all? 
{To  Pamphilus.)  This  are  you  afraid  of,  lest  you  should  marry 
her ; and  you  {to  Charinus,)  lest  you  should  not  marry  her. 

Char.  You  understand  the  matter. 

Pam.  That’s  the  very  thing. 

Dav.  And  that  very  thing  is  in  no  danger;  trust  me  for 
that. 


Sc.  Ili.J 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


23 


. Pam.  I do  entreat  you,  release  wretched  me  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible from  this  apprehension. 

Dav.  Well,  then,  I will  release  you  ; Chremes  is  not  going 
to  give  you  his  daughter  at  present. 

Pam.  How  do  you  know"? 

Dav.  You  shall  know.  Your  father  just  now  laid  hold 
• of  me;  he  said  that  a wife  was  to  be  given  you  to-day,  and 
many  other  things  as  well,  which  just  now  I haven’t  time 
to  relate.  Hastening  to  you  immediately,  I ran  on  to  the 
FYrum  that  I might  tell  you  these  things.  When  I didn’t 
find  you,  I ascended  there  to  a high  place.  ^ I looked 
around  ; you  were  nowhere.  There  by  chance  I saw  Byrrhia, 
his  servant  {pointing  to  Charinus).  I inquired  of  him ; 
he  said  he  hadn’t  seen  you.  This  puzzled  me.  I consid- 
ered what  I was  to  do.  As  I was  returning  in  the  mean 
time,  a surmise  from  the  circumstances  themselves  occurred 
to  me:  ^^FIow  now, — a very  small  amount  of  good  cheer; 
lie  out  of  spirits ; a marriage  all  of  a sudden  ; these  things 
don’t  agree.” 

Pam.  But  to  what  purpose  this  ? 

Dav.  I forthwith  betook  myself  to  the  house  of  Chremes. 
When  I arrived  there — stillness  before  the  door  then  I was 
pleased  at  that. 

Char.  You  say  well. 

Pam.  Proceed. 

Dav.  I stopped  there.  In  the  mean  time  I saw  no  one 
going  in,  no  one  going  out ; no  matron  at  the  house,^  no 
preparation,  no  bustle.  I drew  near ; looked  in 

^ To  a high  place) — Ver.  356.  He  probably  alludes  to  some  part  of 
the  Acropolis,  the  citadel,  or  higher  part  of  Athens,  which  commanded 
a view  of  the  lower  town. 

^ Stillness  before  the  door) — Yer.  362.  Madame  Dacier  observes  that 
this  remark  is  very  appropriately  made  by  Davus,  as  showing  that  the 
marriage  was  clearly  not  intended  by  Chremes.  The  house  of  the 
bride  on  such  an  occasion  would  be  thronged  by  her  friends,  and  at  the 
door  would  be  the  musicians  and  those  who  were  to  form  part  of  the 
bridal  procession. 

^ No  matron  at  the  house') — Yer.  364.  By  the  use  of  the  word  ‘‘ma- 
trona,”  he  probably  alludes  to  the  “pronubas”  among  the  Romans, 
whose  duties  were  somewhat  similar  to  those  of  our  bride’s-maids.  At 
the  completion  of  the  bridal  repast,  the  bride  was  conducted  to  the 
bvidc.l  chamber  by  matrons  who  had  not  had  more  than  one  husband. 


24: 


ANDRIA; 


[Act  II. 


Pam.  I understand ; a considerable  indication. 

Dav.  Do  these  things  seem  to  accord  with  a wedding  1 

Pam.  I think  not,  Davus. 

Dav.  Think,  do  you  say  1 ■ You  don’t  view  it  rightly ; the 
thing  is  certain.  Besides,  coming  away  from  there  I saw  the 
servant-boy  of  Chremes  carrying  some  vegetables  and  little 
fishes,  an  obol’s  worth,'  for  the  old  man’s  dinner. 

Char.  This  day,  Davus,  have  I been  delivered  by  your 
means. 

Dav.  And  yet  not  at  all. 

CijAR.  Why  so*?  Surely  he  will  not  give  her  to  him,  after 
all  this.  {Pointing  to  Pamphilus.) 

Dav.  You  silly  fellow ! as  though  it  were  a necessary  con- 
sequence that  if  he  doesn’t  give  her  to  him  you  should  marry 
her:  unless,  indeed,  joxx  look  about  you ; unless  you  entreat 
and  make  court  to  the  old  man  s friends.  ^ 

Char.  You  advise  well.  I’ll  go;  although,  upon  my  laith, 
this  hope  has  often  eluded  me  already.  I arewell ! 

{Exit. 

Scene  IV. 


Pamphill’S  and  Davus. 


Pam.  What  then  does  my  father  mean  ? Vhy  does  he 
tliiis  make  pretense? 

Dav.  I’ll  tell  you.  If  now  he  were  angry  wita  you,  be- 
cause  Chremes  will  not  give  you  a wife,  he  would  seem  to 
l.imself  to  be  unjust,  and  that  not  without  reason,  before  he 
has  ascertained  your  feelings  as  to  the  marriage,  how  they 
are  disposed.  But  if  you  refuse  to  marry  her,  m that  case 
he  will  transfer  the  blame  to  you ; then  such  disturbances 
will  arise. 

Pam.  I will  submit  to  any  thing /row  tea. 

Dav.  He  is  your  father,  Pamphilus.  It  is  a difficult  mat- 
ter. Besides,  this  woman  is  defenseless.  No  sooner  said 


I An  ohoVs  worth)— Ver.  369.  The  “ obolus”  was  the  smallest  Greek 
silver  coir  anrwas  equal  in  value  to  about  three  halfpence  of  our  mon- 
ey » Pisciculi  minuti,”  “ little  fish,”  were  much  used  for  food  amon<; 
tlm  poomr  dasses ; “ mena,”  a fish  resembling  our  pilchard,  was  a com- 
mo^  aXirof  food  with  the  Komans.  The  larger  kinds  of  fish  v ent 
under  the  r^eneral  name  of  “cetum. 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


25 


than  done;  he  will  find  some  pretext  for  driving  her  away 
from  the  city. 

Pam.  Driving  her  away  1 

Day.  A^e,  and  quickly  too. 

Pam.  Tell  me  then,  Davus,  wlrat  am  I to  do? 

Day.  Say  that  you  will  marry  her. 

Pam.  {starting,)  Ha! 

Day.  What’s  the  matter  ? 

Pam.  What,  am  I to  say  so  ? 

Day.  Why  not  ? 

Pam.  Never  will  I do  it. 

Day.  Don’t  say  so. 

Pam.  Don’t  attempt  to  persuade  me. 

Day.  Consider  what  will  be  the  result  of  it. 

Pam.  That  I shall  be  deprived  of  the  one,  and  fixed  with 
the  other. 

Day.  Not  so.  In  fact,  I think  it  will  be  thus:  Your  fa- 
ther will  say:  wish  you  to  marry  a wife  to-day.”  You 

reply : I’ll  marry  her.”  Tell  me,  how  can  he  raise  a quarrel 
with  you  ? Thus  you  will  cause  all  the  plans  which  are  now 
arranged  by  him  to  be  disarranged,  without  any  danger ; for 
this  is  not  to  be  doubted,  that  Chremes  will  not  give  you  his 
daughter.  Therefore  do  not  hesitate  in  those  measures  which 
you  are  taking,  on  this  account,  lest  he  should  change  his 
sentiments.  Tell  your  father  that  you  consent;  so  that  al- 
though he  may  desire  it,  he  may  not  be  able  to  be  angry  at 
you  with  reason.  For  that  which  you  rely  on,  I will  easily 
refute ; No  one,”  you  think,  “will  give  a wife  to  a person  of 
these  habits.”  But  he  will  find  a beggar  for  you,  rather  than 
allow  you  to  be  corrupted  by  a mistress.  If,  however,  he  shall 
believe  that  you  bear  it  with  a contented  mind,  you  will  render 
him  indifferent ; at  his  leisure  he  will  look  out  for  another  ivife 
for  you  ; in  the  mean  time  something  lucky  may  turn  up. 

Pam.  Do  you  think  so  ? 

Day.  It  really  is  not  a matter  of  doubt. 

Pam.  Consider  to  what  you  are  persuading  me. 

Day.  Nay,  but  do  be  quiet. 

Pam.  Well,  I’ll  say  it;  but,  that  he  mayn’t  come  to  know 
that  she  has  had  a child  by  me,  is  a thing  to  be  guarded 
against;  for  I have  promised  to  bring  it  up. 

Day.  Oh,  piece  of  effrontery. 

B 


ANDRIA ; 


[Act  II. 


26 


Pam.  She  entreated  me  that  I would  give  her  this  pledge, 
by  which  she  might  be  sure  she  should  not  be  deserted. 

Dav.  It  shall  be  attended  to;  but  your  father’s  coining. 
Take  care  that  he  doesn’t  perceive  that  you  are  out  of  spirits. 

Scene  V. 

Enter  SiMO,  at  a distance, 

Si3i.  {apart  to  himself,)  I’ve  come  back  to  see  what  they 
are  about,  or  what  scheme  they  are  hatching. 

Dav.  {to  Pamphilus.)  He  has  no  doubt  at  present  but 
that  you’ll  refuse  to  marry.  Plaving  considered  his  course, 
he’s  come  from  a retired  spot  somewhere  or  other ; he  hopes 
that  he  has  framed  a speech  by  which  to  disconcert  you ; do 
you  take  care,  then,  to  be  yourself. 

Pam.  If  I am  only  able,  Davus. 

T>ay,  Trust  me  for  that,  Pamphilus,  I tell  you ; your  father 
will  never  this  day  exchange  a single  word  with  you,  if  you 
say  that  you  will  marry. 


Scene  VI. 

Enter  Byrrhia,  unperceived,  at  a distance  behind  SiMO. 

Byp.  {apart  to  himself)  My  master  has  ordered  me,  leaving 
my  business,  to  keep  an  eye  on  Pamphilus  to-day,  what  he 
is  doing  with  regard  to  the  marriage.  I was  to  learn  it;  for 
that  reason,  I have  now  followed  him^  {pointing  to  SiMo)  as 

^ I have  now  followed  him) — Ver.  414.  “ Hunc  venientem  sequor.” 
Cooke  has  the  following  remark  on  this  line  : “ This  verse,  though  in  ev- 
ery edition,  as  Bentley  judiciously  observes,  is  certainly  spurious ; for 
as  Pamphilus  has  not  disappeared  since  Byrrhia  left  the  stage,  he  could 
not  say  ‘ nunc  hunc  venientem  sequor.’  If  we  suppose  the  line  genu- 
ine, we  must  at  the  same  time  suppose  Terence  guilty  of  a monstrous 
absurdity.”  On  these  words  Colman  makes  the  following  just  observa- 
tions : “ Other  Commentators  have  also  stumbled  at  this  passage ; but 
if  in  the  words  ‘ followed  him  hither,  ’ we  suppose  ‘ himl  (hunc)  to  refer 
to  Simo,  the  difficulty  is  removed ; and  that  the  pronoun  really  does 
signify  Simo,  is  evident  from  the  circumstance  of  Pamphilus  never 
having  left  the  stage  since  the  disappearance  of  Byrrhia.  Simo  is  also 
represented  as  coming  on  the  stage  homeward,  so  that  Byrrhia  might 
easily  have  followed  him  along  the  street ; and  it  is  evident  that  Byrrhia 
does  not  allude  to  Pamphilus  from  the  agreeable  surprise  which  he  ex- 
presses on  seeing  him  there  so  opportunely  for  the  purpose.” 


Sc.  VI.l  THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN.  27 

he  came  hither.  Himself,  as  well,  I see  standing  with  Davus 
close  at  hand  ; I’ll  note  this. 

Sim.  {apart  to  himself.)  I see  that  both  of  them  are  here. 

Day.  {in  a low  voice  to  Pamphilus.)  Now  then,  be  on 
your  guard. 

Sim.  Pamphilus ! 

Dav.  {in  a low  voice.)  Look  round  at  him  as  though  taken 
unawares. 

Pam.  {turning  round  sharply.)  What,  my  father ! 

Day.  {in  a low  voice.)  Capital! 

Sim.  I Vvdsh  you  to  marry  a wife  to-day,  as  I was 
saying. 

Byr.  {apart.)  Now  I’m  in  dread  for  our  side,  as  to  what 
he  will  answer. 

Pam.  Neither  in  that  nor  in  any  thing  else  shall  you  ever 
find  any  hesitation  in  me. 

Byr.  {apart.)  Hah! 

Day.  {in  a low  voice  to  Pamphilus.)  He  is  struck  dumb. 

Byr.  {apart.)  What  a speech ! 

Sim.  You  act  as  becomes  you,  when  that  which  I ask  I 
obtain  with  a good  grace. 

Day.  {aside  to  Pamphilus.)  Am  I right  ? 

Byr.  My  master,  so  far  as  I learn,  has  missed  his  wife. 

Sim.  Now,  then,  go  in-doors,  that  you  mayn’t  be  causing 
delay  when  you  are  wanted. 

Pam.  I’ll  go.  {Goes  into  the  house.) 

Byr.  {apart.)  Is  there,  in  no  case,  putting  trust  in  any 
man  That  is  a true  proverb  which  is  wont  to  be  commonly 
quoted,  that  ‘‘  all  had  rather  it  to  be  well  for  themselves  than 
for  another.”  I remember  noticing,  when  I saw  her,  that  she 
was  a young  woman  of  handsome  figure ; wherefore  I am  the 
more  disposed  to  excuse  Pamphilus,  if  he  has  preferred  that  he 
himself,  rather  than  the  other,  should  embrace  her  in  his  slum- 
bers. I’ll  carry  back  these  tidings,  that,  in  return  for  this 
evil  he  may  inflict  evil  upon  me.^  {Exit. 

^ Inflict  evil  upon  me) — Yer.  431.  ‘‘Malum;”  the  usual  name  by 
v/hich  slaves  spoke  of  the  beatings  they  were  in  the  habit  of  receiving 
at  the  hands  or  by  the  order  of  their  irascible  masters.  Colman  has 
the  following  remarks:  “Donatus  observes  on  this  Scene  betw^een 
Byrrhia,  Simo,  Pamphilus,  and  Davus,  that  the  dialogue  is  sustained 
by  four  persons,  who  have  little  or  no  intercourse  wdth  each  other ; so 


28 


ANDRIA  ; 


[Act  1L,  So.  Yll. 


Scene  VII. 

SiMO  and  Day  us. 

Day.  (aside,  coming  away  from  the  door  of  the  house-)  He 
now  supposes  that  I’m  bringing  some  trick  to  bear  against 
him,  and  that  on  that  account  I’ve  remained  here. 

Sim.  What  does  he  say,  Davos'?! 

Day.  Just  as  much. as  nothing.^ 

Sim.  What,  nothing?  Eh? 

Day.  Nothing  at  all. 

Sim.  And  yet  I certainly  was  expecting  something. 

Dav^  It  has  turned  out  contrary  to  your  expectations. 
(Aside.)  I perceive  it ; this  vexes  the  man. 

Sim.  Are  you  able  to  tell  me  the  truth  ? 

Daa",  I?  Nothing  more  easy. 

Sim.  Is  this  marriage  at  all  disagreeable  to  him,  on  account 
of  his  intimacy  with  this  foreign  woman? 

Day.  No,  faith ; or  if  at  all,  it  is  a two  or  three  days’  an- 
noyance this — you  understand.  It  will  then  cease.  More- 
over, he  himself  has  thought  over  this  matter  in  a proper  way. 

Sim.  I commend  him. 

that  the  Scene  is  not  only  in  direct  contradiction  to  the  precept  of  Hor- 
ace, excluding  a fourth  person,  but  is  also  otherwise  vicious  in  its  con- 
struction. Scenes  of  this  kind  are,  I think,  much  too  frequent  in  Ter- 
ence, though,  indeed,  the  form  of  the  ancient  Theatre  was  more  adapt- 
ed to  the  representation  of  them  than  the  modern.  The  multiplicity 
of  speeches  aside  is  also  the  chief  error  in  this  dialogue  ; such  speeches, 
though  very  common  in  dramatic  writers,  ancient  and  modern,  being 
always  more  or  less  unnatural.” 

^ What  does  he  say,  JDavus?) — Yer.  434.  ‘‘Quid,  Dave,  narrat?” 
This  reading  Yollbehr  suggests  in  place  of  the  old  one,  “Quid  Davus 
narrat?”  and  upon  good  grounds,  as  it  appears.  According  to  the  lat- 
ter reading  we  are  to  suppose  that  Davus  is  grumbling  to  himself,  on 
which  Simo  says,  “What  does  Davus  say?”  It  seems,  however,  much 
more  likely  that  Davus  accompanies  Pamphilus  to  the  door,  and  speaks 
to  him  before  he  goes  in,  and  then,  on  his  return  to  Simo,  the  latter 
asks  him,  “ What  does  he  say,  Davus  ?” 

^ Just  as  much  as  nothing') — Yer.  434.  “ Alque  quidquam  nunc  qui- 
dem.”  This  is  a circumlocution  for  “nothing  at  all somewhat  more 
literally  perhaps,  it  might  be  rendered  “just  as  much  as  before.”  Per- 
izonius  supplies  the  ellipsis  with  a long  string  of  Latin  words,  which 
translated  would  mean,  “Now,  indeed,  he  says  equally  as  much  as  he 
says  then,  when  he  says  nothing  at  all.” 


Act  III.,  Sc.  L] 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


29 


Day.  While  it  was  allowed  him,  and  while  his  years 
prompted  him,  he  intrigued;  eveii  then  it  ivas  secretly.  He 
took  precaution  that  that  circumstance  should  never  be  a 
cause  of  disgrace  to  him,  as  behooves  a man  of  principle  ; now 
that  he  must  have  a wife,  he  has  set  his  mind  upon  a wife. 

Sim.  He  seemed  to  me  to  be  somewhat  melancholy  in  a 
slight  degree. 

Day.  Not  at  all  on  account  of  her,  but  there’s  something 
he  blames  you  for. 

Sim.  What  is  it,  pray  ? 

Day.  It’s  a childish  thing. 

Sim.  What  is  it? 

Day.  Nothing  at  all. 

Sim.  Nay  but,  tell  me  what  it  is. 

Day.  He  says  that  you  are  making  too  sparin^preparations. 

Sim.  What,  I? 

Day.  You. — He  says  that  there  has  hardly  been  fare  pro- 
vided to  the  amount  of  ten  drachmae.^ — ‘‘  Does  he  seem  to  be 
bestowing  a wife  on  his  son  ? Which  one  now,  in  preference, 
of  my  companions  shall  I invite  to  the  dinner?”  And,  it 
must  be  owned,  you  really  are  providing  too  parsimoniously 
— I do  not  commend  you. 

Sim.  Hold  your  tongue. 

Day.  (aside.)  I’yc  touched  him  up. 

Sim.  I’ll  see  that  these  things  are  properly  done.  (Dayus 
goes  into  the  house.)  What’s  the  meaning  of  this?  What 
does  this  old  rogue  mean?  But  if  there’s  any  knavery  here, 
why,  he’s  sure  to  be  the  source  of  the  mischief.  {Goes  into 
his  house.) 


ACT  THE  THIRD. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  SiMO  and  Dayus  from  the  house  of  the  former.  Mysis 
and  Lesbia  are  coming  toward  the  house  of  Glycerium. 

Mys.  {not  seeing  Simo  and  Dayus.)  Upon  my  faith,  the 
fact  is  really  as  you  mentioned,  Lesbia,  you  can  hardly  find 
a man  constant  to  a woman. 

^ Amount  of  ten  drachmoe) — Ver.  451.  The  Attic  drachma  was  a sil- 
ver coin  vv'orth  in  value  about  9|d.  of  English  money. 


30  ANDRIA ; [Act  HI. 

Sim.  {apart  to  Davus.)  This  maid-servant  comes  from  the 
Andrian. 

Day.  {apart  to  Simo.)  What  do  you  say? 

Sim.  {apart  to  Davus.)  It  is  so. 

Mys.  But  this  Pamphilus 

Sim.  {apart  to  Davus.)  What  is  she  saying? 

Mrs.  Has  proved  his  constancy. 

Sim.  {apart)  Hah  ! 

Dav.  (apart  to  himself.)  I wish  that  either  he  w^ere  deaf, 
or  she  struck  dumb. 

Mys.  For  the  child  slie  brings  forth,  he  has  ordered  to  be 
brought  up. 

Sim.  (apart)  O Jupiter!  What  do  I hear!  It’s  all  over, 
if  indeed  this  woman  speaks  the  truth. 

Les.  You*mention  a good  disposition  on  the  part  of  the 
young  man. 

Mys.  a most  excellent  one.  But  follow  me  in-doors,  that 
you  mayn’t  keep  her  waiting. 

Les.  I’ll  follow.  (Mysis  and  Lesbia  go  into  Glycekium’s 
house.) 

Scene  H. 

Simo  and  Davus. 

Dav.  (aside.)  What  remedy  now  shall  I find  for  this 
mishap? 

Sim.  (to  himself  aloud.)  What  does  this  mean?  Is  he  so 
infatuated  ? The  child  of  a foreign  woman  ? Now  I under- 
stand ; ah ! scarcely  even  at  last,  in  my  stupidity,  have  I 
found  it  out. 

Dav.  (aside  to  himself.)  What  does  he  say  he  has  found  out? 

Sim.  (aside.)  This  piece  of  knavery  is  being  now  for  the 
first  time  palmed  upon  me  by  this  fellow;  they  are  pre- 
tending that  she’s  in  labor,  in  order  that  they  may  alarm 
Chremes. 

Gly.  (exclaiming  from  within  her  house.)  Juno  Lucina,i 
grant  me  thine  aid,  save  me,  I do  entreat  thee ! 

Sim.  Whew ! so  sudden  ? What  nonsense ! As  soon 

* Juno  Lucinci) — Ver.  473.  Juno  Lucina  had  the  care  of  women  in 
childbed.  Under  this  name  some  suppose  Diana  to  have  been  wor- 
shiped. A similar  incident  to  the  present  is  found  in  the  Adelphi, 
1.  486  ; and  in  the  Aulularia  of  Plautus,  1.  646. 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


31 


as  she  has  lieard  that  I’m  standing  before  the  door,  she  makes 
all  haste.  These  incidents^  Davus,  have  not  been  quite  happi- 
ly adapted  by  you  as  to  the  points  of  time. 

Day.  By  me  ? 

Sm.  Are  your  scholars  forgetful  V 

Dav.  I don’t  know  what  you  are  talking  about. 

Sim.  (aside,)  If  he  at  Ihe  real  marriage  of  my  son  had  tak- 
en me  off  my  guard,  what  sport  he  would  have  made  of  me. 
Now  it  is  at  his  own  risk ; I’m  sailing  in  harbor. 

Scene  III. 

Re-enter  Lesbia  from  the  house  of  Glycerium. 

Les.  {speaking  to  Arciiylis  at  the  door,  and  not  seeing  Simo 
and  Davus.)  As  yet,  Archylis,  all  the  customary  symptoms 
which  ought  to  exist  toward  recovery,  I perceive  in  her. 
Now,  in  the  first  place,  take  care  and  let  her  bathe  then, 
after  that,  what  I ordered  to  be  given  her  to  drink,  and  as 
much  as  I prescribed,  do  you  administer : presently  I will  re- 
turn hither.  (To  herself  aloud,)  By  all  that’s  holy,  a fine 
boy  has  been  born  to  Pamphilus.  I pray  the  Gods  that  he 
may  survive,  since  the  father  himself  is  of  a good  disposition, 
and  since  he  has  hesitated  to  do  an  injustice  to  this  most  ex- 
cellent young  woman.  (Exit, 

Scene  IY. 

Simo  and  Davus. 

Sim.  Even  this,  who  is  there  that  knows  you  that  would 
not  believe  that  it  originated  in  you  ? 

Dav.  Why,  what  is  this  ? 

Sim.  She  didn’t  order  in  their  presence  what  was  requisite 
to  be  done  for  the  woman  lying  in ; but  after  she  has  come  out, 
she  bawls  from  the  street  to  those  who  are  in  the  house.  O 
Davus,  am  I thus  trifled  with  by  you?  Or  pray,  do  I seem 
to  you  so  very  well  suited  to  be  thus  openly  imposed  upon 

’ Are  your  scholars  forgeful?) — Yer.  477.  He  alludes  under  this 
term  to  Mysis,  Lesbia,  and  Pamphilus,  whom  he  supposes  Davus  to  have 
been  training  to  act  their  parts  in  the  plot  against  him. 

^ Let  her  bathe) — Ver.  483.  It  was  the  custom  for  women  to  bathe 
immediately  after  childbirth.  See  the  Amphitryon  of  Plautus,  1.  669, 
and  the  Note  to  the  passage  in  Bohn’s  Translation. 


32 


ANDRIA; 


[Act  III. 


by  your  tricks  ? At  all  events  it  should  have  been  with  pre- 
caution ; that  at  least  I might  have  seemed  to  be  feared,  if  I 
should  detect  it. 

Dav.  {aside,)  Assuredly,  upon  my  faith,  it’s  he  that’s  now 
deceiving  himself,  not  I. 

Sim.  I gave  you  warning,  I forbade  you  with  threats  to  do 
it.  Have  you  been  awed?  What  has  it  availed?  Am  I to 
believe  you  now  in  this,  that  this  woman  has  had  a child  by 
Pamphilus  ? 

Dav.  {aside,)  I understand  where  he’s  mistaken  ; and  I 
see  what  I must  do. 

Sim.  Why  are  you  silent? 

Dav.  What  would  you  believe  ? As  though  word  had  not 
been  brought  you  that  thus  it  would  happen. 

Sim.  Any  ivord  brought  to  me  ? 

Dav.  Come  now,  did  you  of  your  own  accord  perceive  that 
this  was  counterfeited  ? 

Sim.  I am  being  trifled  with. 

Dav.  Word  has  been  brought  you  ; for  otherwise  how  could 
this  suspicion  have  occurred  to  you? 

Sim.  How?  Because  I knew  you. 

Dav.  AxS  though  you  meant  to  say  that  this  has  been  done 
by  my  contrivance. 

Sim.  Why,  I’m  sure  of  it,  to  a certainty. 

Dav.  Not  yet  even  do  you  know  me  sufficiently,  Simo, 
what  sort  of  person  I am. 

Sim.  I,  not  know  you  ! 

Dav.  But  if  I begin  to  ietWyou  any  thing,  at  once  you  think 
that  deceit  is  being  practiced  upon  you  in  guile;  therefore, 
upon  my  faith,  I don’t  dare  now  even  to  v/hisper. 

Sim.  This  one  thing  I am  sure  of,  that  no  person  has  been 
delivered  here.  {Pointing  to  Glycerium’s  house.) 

Dav.  You  have  discovered  that?  Still,  not  a bit  the  less 
will  they  presently  be  laying  the  child^  here  before  the  door. 
Of  this,  then,  I now  warn  you,  master,  that  it  will  happen, 

^ Be  laying  the  child) — Yer.  507.  Colman  has  the  follo^ving  remark 
on  this  line  v- — “ The  art  of  this  passage  is  equal  to  the  pleasantry,  for 
though  Davus  runs  into  this  detail  merely  with  a view  to  dupe  the  old 
man  still  further  by  flattering  him  on  his  fancied  sagacity,  yet  it  very 
naturally  prepares  us  for  an  incident  which,  by  another  turn  of  circum- 
stances, afterward  becomes  necessary.” 


Sc. 1\\ 


Till:  FAIR  ANDFIAX. 


33 


that  you  may  be  aware  of  it.  Don’t  you  hereafter  be  saying 
that  this  was  done  through  the  advice  or  artifices  of  Davus. 
I wisli  this  suspicion  of  yours  to  be  entirely  removed  from 
myself. 

Sim.  How  do  you  know  that  ? 

Dav.  I’ve  heard  so,  and  I believe  it : many  things  combine 
for  me  to  form  this  conjecture.  In  the  first  place  then,  she 
declared  that  she  was  pregnant  by  Pamphilus ; that  has  been 
proved  to  be  false. ^ Now,  when  she  sees  that  preparations 
are  being  made  for  the  wedding  at  our  house,  the  maid-servant 
is  directly  sent  to  fetch  the  midwife  to  her,  and  to  bring  a 
child  at  the  same  time.^  Unless  it  is  managed  for  you  to  see 
the  child,  the  marriage  will  not  be  at  all  impeded. 

Sim.  What  do  you  say  to  this?  When  you  perceived  that 
they  were  adopting  this  plan,  why  didn’t  you  tell  Pamphilus 
immediately  ? 

Dav.  Why,  who  lias  induced  him  to  leave  her,  but  myself  1 
For,  indeed,  we  all  know  how  desperately  he  loved  her.  Now 
he  wishes  for  a wife.  In  fine,  do  you  intrust  me  with  that 
affair ; proceed  however,  as  before,  to  celebrate  these  nuptials, 
just  as  you  are  doing,  and  I trust  that  the  Gods  will  prosper 
this  matter. 

Sim.  Very  well ; be  off  in-doors  ; wait  for  me  there,  and  get 
ready  what’s  necessary  to  be  prepared.  (Davus  goes  into  the 
house.')  He  hasn’t  prevailed  upon  me  even  now  altogether  to 
believe  these  things,  and  I don’t  know  whether  what  he  has 
said  is  all  true  ; but  I deem  it  of  little  moment ; this  is  of  far 
greater  importance  to  me — that  my  son  himself  lias  promised 
me.  Now  I’ll  go  and  find  Chremes ; I’ll  ask  him  for  a wife 
for  my  son  ; if  I obtain  my  request,  at  what  other  time  rather 
than  to-day  should  I prefer  these  nuptials  taking  place?  For 
as  my  son  has  promised,  I have  no  doubt  but  that  if  he  should 
prove  unwilling,  I can  fairly  compel  him.  And  look ! here’s 
Chremes  himself,  just  at  the  very  time. 

^ Proved  to  he  false) — ^Ver.  513.  That  is,  according  to  Simo’s  own 
notion,  which  Davus  now  thinks  proper  to  humor. 

^ To  bring  a child  at  the  same  time) — Ver.  515.  This  is  a piece  of 
roguery  which  has  probably  been  practiced  in  all  ages,  and  was  some- 
what commonly  perpetrated  in  Greece.  The  reader  of  English  history 
will  remember  how  the  unfortunate  son  of  James  II.  was  said,  in  the 
face  of  the  strongest  evidence  to  the  contrary,  to  have  been  a suppositi- 
tious child  brought  into  the  queen’s  chamber  in  a silver  warming-pan. 


34 


ANDIUA; 


[Act  III. 


Scene  V. 

Enter  Ciikemes. 

Sim.  I greet  you,  Chremes. 

Chrem.  O,  you  are  the  very  person  I was  looking  lor. 

Sim.  And  I for  you. 

Chrem.  You  meet  me  at  a welcome  moment.  Some  per- 
sons have  been  to  me,  to  say  that  they  had  heard  from  you, 
that  my  daughter  was  to  be  married  to  your  son  to-day ; I’ve 
come  to  see  whether  they  are  out  of  their  senses  or  you. 

Sim.  Listen ; in  a few  words  you  shall  learn  both  what  I 
want  of  you,  and  what  you  seek  to  know. 

Chrem.  I am  listening  ; say  what  you  wish. 

SiM.  By  the  Gods,  I do  entreat  you,  Chremes,  and  hy  our 
friendship,  v/hich,  commencing  with  our  infancy,  has  grown 
up  with  our  years,  and  by  your  only  daughter  and  by  my  own 
son  (of  preserving  whom  the  entire  power  lies  with  you),  that 
you  will  assist  me  in  this  matter;  and  that,  just  as  this  mar- 
riage was  about  to  be  celebrated,  it  may  be  celebrated. 

Chrem.  O,  don’t  importune  me;  as  though  you  needed  to 
obtain  this  of  me  by  entreaty.  Do  you  suppose  I am  differ- 
ent now  from  what  I was  formerly,  when  I promised  her? 
If  it  is  for  the  advantage  of  them  both  that  it  should  take 
place,  order  her  to  be  sent  for.  But  if  from  this  course  there 
would  result  more  harm  than  advantage  for  each,  this  I do 
beg  of  you,  that  you  will  consult  for  their  common  good,  as 
though  she  were  your  own  daughter^  and  I the  father  of 
Famphilus. 

Sim.  Nay,  so  I intend,  and  so  I wish  it  to  be,  Chremes ; 
and  I would  not  ask  it  of  you,  did  not  the  occasion  itself  re- 
quire it. 

Chrem.  What  is  the  matter  ? 

Sim.  There  is  a quarrel  between  Glycerium  and  my  son. 

Chrem.  {ironically.)  I hear  you. 

Sim.  So  much  so,  that  I’m  in  hopes  they  may  be  separated. 

Chrem.  Nonsense! 

Sim.  It  really  is  so. 

Chrem.  After  this  fashion,  i’ faith,  I tell  you,  the  quarrels 
of  lovers  are  the  renewal  of  love.” 


Sc.  V.] 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


Sim.  Well — this  I beg  of  you,  that  we  may  prevent  it. 
While  an  opportunity  offers,  and  while  his  passion  is  cooled 
by  affronts,  before  the  wiles  of  these  women  and  their  tears, 
craftily  feigned,  bring  back  his  love-sick  mind  to  compassion, 
let  us  give  him  a wife.  I trust,  Chremes,  that,  when  attach- 
ed by  intimacy  and  a respectable  marriage,  he  will  easily  ex- 
tricate himself  from  these  evils. 

Chrem.  So  it  appears  to  you ; but  I do  not  think^  that 
either  he  can  possibly  hold  to  her  with  constancy,  or  that  I 
can  put  up  with  it  if  he  does  not. 

Slm.  How  then  can  you  be  sure  of  that,  unless  you  make 
tlie  experiment? 

Chrem.  But  for  that  experiment  to  be  made  upon  a daugh- 
ter is  a serious  thing 

Sim.  Why  look,  all  the  inconvenience  in  fine  amounts  to 
this — possibly,  which  may  the  Gods  forfend,  a separation  may 
take  place.  But  if  he  is  reformed,  see  how  many  are  the  ad- 
vantages : in  the  first  place,  you  will  have  restored  a son  to 
your  friend  ; you  will  obtain  a sure  son-in-law^  for  yourself, 
and  a husband  for  your  daughter. 

Chrem.  What  is  one  to  say  to  all  this?  If  you  feel  per- 
suaded that  this  is  beneficial,  I don’t  wish  that  any  advantage 
should  be  denied  you. 

Sim.  With  good  reason,  Chremes,  have  I always  considered 
you  a most  valuable  friend. 

Chrem.  But  how  say  you ?” 

Sim.  What  ? 

Chrem.  How  do  you  know  that  they  are  now  at  variance  ? 

Sim.  Davus  himself,  who  is  privy  to  all  their  plans,  has 
told  me  so ; and  he  advises  me  to  expedite  the  match  as  fast 
as  I can.  Do  you  think  he  would  do  so,  unless  he  was  aware 
that  my  son  desired  it?  You  yourself  as  well  shall  presently 
hear  what  he  says.  {Goes  to  the  door  of  Ms  house  and  calls.) 


^ But  I do  not  think) — Ver.  563-4.  “At  ego  non  posse  arbitror 
neque  ilium  hanc  perpetuo  habere.”  Chremes  uses  an  ambiguous  ex- 
pression here,  perhaps  purposely.  It  may  mean,  “I  do  not  think  that 
he  can  possibly  be  constant  to  her,”  or,  “ that  she  will  continue  to  live 
with  him.” 

^ A sure  son-in-law) — Yer.  571.  By  the  use  of  the  word  “firmum,” 
he  means  a son-in-law  who  will  not  be  likely  to  resort  to  divorce  or 
separation  from  his  wife. 


AiSDKIA  ; 


3G 


[Act  III. 


Plalloo  there ! Call  Davus  out  here.  Look,  here  he  is  ; I see 
him  just  coming  out. 


Scene  VI. 

Enter  Dayus  from  the  house. 

Day.  I was  coming  to  you. 

Sim.  Why,  what’s  the  matter  ? 

Day.  Why  isn’t  the  bride  sent  for*?^  It’s  now  growing 
late  in  the  day. 

Sim.  Do  you  hear  me  % I’ve  been  for  some  time  not  a lit- 
tle apprehensive  of  you,  Davus,  lest  you  should  do  that  which 
the  common  class  of  servants  is  in  the  habit  of  doing,  namely, 
impose  upon  me  by  your  artifices  ; because  my  son  is  engaged 
in  an  amour. 

Day.  What,  I do  that? 

Sim.  I fancied  so  ; and  therefore,  fearing  that,  I concealed 
from  you  what  I shall  noAV  mention. 

Day.  What? 

Sim.  You  shall  know ; for  now  I almost  feel  confidence 
in  you. 

Day.  Plave  you  found  out  at  last  what  sort  of  a person  I 
am? 

Sim.  The  marriage  v/as  not  to  haYe  taken  place. 

Day.  IIov/?  l^oi  to  have  taken  place? 

Sim.  But  I was  making  pretense,  that  I might  test  you 
all. 

Day.  {affecting  surprise.)  What  is  it  you  tell  me? 

Sim.  Such  is  the  fact. 

Day.  Only  see ! I was  not  able  to  discoYer  that.  Dear 
me  ! what  a cunning  contrivance  ! 

Sim.  Listen  to  this.  Just  as  I ordered  you  to  go  from  here 
into  the  house,  he  {pointing  to  Chremes)  most  opportunely 
met  me. 

^ Why  isrCt  the  bride  sent  for  582.  Among  the  Greeks  the 

bride  was  conducted  by  the  bridegroom  at  nightfall  from  her  father’s 
house,  in  a chariot  drawn  by  a pair  of  mules  or  oxen,  and  escorted  by 
persons  carrying  the  nuptial  torches.  Among  the  Komans,  she  pro- 
ceeded in  the  evening  to  the  bridegroom’s  house ; preceded  by  a boy 
carrying  a torch  of  white  thorn,  or,  according  to  some,  of  pine-wood. 
To  this  custom  reference  is  indirectly  made  in  the  jwesent  passage. 


Sc.  VIL] 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


37 


Dav.  {aside.)  Hu!  Are  we  undone,  then ? 

Sim.  I told  him  what  you  just  now  told  me. 

Day.  (aside,)  Why,  what  am  I to  hear? 

Sim.  I begged  him  to  give  his  daughtei*,  and  with  difficulty 
I prevailed  upon  him. 

Dav.  {aside.)  Utterly  ruined ! 

Sim.  {overhearing  him  speaking.)  Eh — What  was  it  you  said? 

Dav.  Extremely  well  done,  I say. 

Sim.  There’s  no  delay  on  his  part  now. 

Chrem.  I’ll  go  home  at  once ; I’ll  tell  her  to  make  due 
preparation,  and  bring  back  word  here.  {Exit, 

Sim.  Now  I do  entreat  you,  Davus,  since  you  by  yourself 
luive  brought  about  this  marriage  for  me 

Day.  I myself,  indeed ! ^ 

Sim.  Do  your  best  still  to  reform  my  son. 

Day.  Troth,  I’ll  do  it  with  all  due  care. 

Sim.  Do  it  now,  while  his  mind  is  agitated. 

Day.  You  may  be  at  ease. 

Sim.  Come  then  ; where  is  he  just  now? 

Day.  a wonder  if  he  isn’t  at  home. 

Sim.  I’ll  go  to  him ; and  what  I’ve  been  telling  you,  I’ll 
tell  him  as  well.  {Goes  into  his  house.) 

Scene  VII. 

Davus  alone. 

Day.  {to  himself.)  I’m  a lost  man ! What  reason  is  there 
why  I shouldn’t  take  my  departure  straightway  hence  for  the 
mill  ? There’s  no  room  left  for  supplicating ; I’ve  upset  every 
thing  now;  I’ve  deceived  my  master;  I’ve  plunged  my  mas- 
ter’s son  into  a marriage ; I’ve  been  the  cause  of  its  taking 
place  this  very  day,  without  his  hoping  for  it,  and  against  the 
wish  of  Pamphilus.  Here’s  cleverness  for  you  ! But,  if  I had 
kept  myself  quiet,  no  mischief  would  have  happened.  {Start- 
ing.) But  see,  I espy  him  ; I’m  utterly  undone  ! Would  that 
there  were  some  spot  here  for  me,  from  which  I might  this  in- 
stant pitch  myself  headlong ! {Stands  apart.) 

myself  indeed!) — Ver.  597.  No  doubt  Davus  says  these  words  in 
sorrow  and  regret;  Simo,  however,  supposes  them  to  be  uttered  in  ex- 
ultation at  the  apparent  success  of  his  plans.  Consequently  “vero”  is 
intended  by  Davus  to  have  the  sense  here  of  “ too  truly.” 


38 


ANDRIA ; 


[Act  III.,  Sc.  VIII. 


SCExNE  VIII. 

Enter  Pampiiilus  in  haste  from  Simo’s  house. 

Pam.  Where  is  he?  The  villain,  who  this  day I’m 

ruined;  and  I confess  that  this  has  justly  befallen  me,  for 
being  such  a dolt,  so  devoid  of  sense ; that  I should  have  in- 
trusted my  fortunes  to  a frivolous  slave!-  I am  suffering  the 
reward  of  my  folly ; still  he  shall  never  get  off  from  me  un- 
punished for  this. 

Day.  {apart.)  I’m  quite  sure  that  I shall  be  safe  in  future, 
if  for  the  present  I get  clear  of  this  mishap. 

Pam.  But  what  now  am  I to  say  to  my  father?  Am  I to 
deny  that  I am  ready,  who  have  just  promised  to  marry? 
With  what  effrontery  could  I presume  to  do  that?  I know 
not  what  to  do  with  myself. 

Day.  (apart.)  Nor  I with  myself,  and  yet  I’m  giving  all 
due  attention  to  it.  I’ll  tell  him  that  I will  devise  something, 
in  order  that  I may  procure  some  respite  in  this  dilemma. 

Pam.  (catching  sight  of  him.)  Oho  I 

Day.  (apart)  I’m  seen. 

Pam.  (sneeringly.)  How  now,  good  sir,  what  are  you  about  ? 
Do  you  see  how  dreadfully  I am  hampered  by  your  devices  ? 

Day.  Still,  I’ll  soon  extricate  you. 

Pam.  You,  extricate  me  ? 

Day.  Assuredly,  Pamphilus. 

Pam.  As  you  have  just  done^  I suppose. 

Day.  Why  no,  better,  I trust. 

Pam.  What,  am  I to  believe  you,  you  scoundrel  ?2  You, 
indeed,  make  good  a matter  that’s  all  embarrassment  and 

^ To  a frivolous  slave) — Ver.  610.  “ Servo  futili.”  According  to  the 
Scholiast  on  the  Thebais  of  Statius,  B.  viii.  1.  297,  ‘‘vas  futile”  was  a 
kind  of  vessel  with  a broad  mouth  and  narrow  bottom,  used  in  the  rites 
of  Vesta.  It  was  made  of  that  peculiar  shape  in  order  that  the  priest 
should  be  obliged  to  hold  it  during  the  sacrifices,  and  might  not  set  it 
on  the  ground,  which  was  considered  profane  ; as,  if  set  there,  the  con- 
tents must  necessarily  fall  out.  From  this  circumstance,  men  who 
could  not  contain  a secret  were  sometimes  called  futiles.” 

^ You  scoundrel) — Ver.  619.  ‘‘Furcifer;”  literally,  wearer  of  the 
“ furca,”  or  wooden  collar.  This  method  of  punishment  lias  been  re- 
f *rred  to  in  the  Notes  to  the  Translation  of  Plautus. 


Act  IV.,  Sc.  L] 


THE  EAIH  ANDRIAN. 


39 


ruin  ! Just  see,  in  whom  I’ve  been  placing  reliance^ — you  who 
this  day  from  a most  happy  state  have  been  and  plunged  me 
into  a marriage.  Didn’t  I say  that  this  would  be  the  case? 

Dav.  You  did  say  so, 

Pam.  What  do  you  deserve?^ 

Dav.  The  cross.^  But  allow  me  a little  time  to  recover 
myself ; I’ll  soon  hit  upon  something. 

Pam.  Ah  me ! not  to  have  the  leisure  to  inflict  punishment 
upon  you  as  I desire  ! for  the  present  conjuncture  warns  me 
to  take  precautions  for  myself,  not  to  be  taking  vengeance  on 
you.  (Exeunt, 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Charinus,  icringing  his  hands. 

Char,  (to  himself.)  Is  this  to  be  believed  or  spoken  of; 
that  malice  so  great  could  be  inborn  in  any  one  as  to  exult 
at  misfortunes,  and  to  derive  advantage  from  the  distresses 
of  another!  Oh,  is  this  true?  Assuredly,  that  is  the  most 
dangerous  class  of  men,  in  whom  there  is  only  a slight  de- 
gree of  hesitation  at  refusing ; afterward,  when  the  time  ar- 
rives for  fulfilling  their  promises,  then,  obliged,  of  necessity 
they  discover  themselves.  They  are  afraid,  and  yet  the 
circumstances^  compel  them  to  refuse.  Then,  in  that  case, 
their  very  insolent  remark  is,  ‘AVho  are  you?  What  are 
you  to  me?  What  should  I give  np  to  you  what’s  my  own? 

* What  do  you  deserve?) — Ver.  622.  Madame  Dacior  remarks  that 
this  question  is  taken  from  the  custom  of  the  Athenians,  who  never 
condemned  a criminal  without  first  asking  him  what  punishment  he 
thought  he  deserved ; and  according  to  the  nature  of  his  answer  they 
mitigated  or  increased  his  punishment.  The  Commentators  quote  a 
similar  passage  from  the  Frogs  of  Aristophanes. 

^ 2"he  cross) — Ver.  622.  The  “cross,”  “crux,”  as  a punishment  for 
refractoiy  slaves  has  been  remarked  upon  in  the  Notes  to  the  Transla- 
tion of  Plautus. 

” The  circumstances) — Ver.  635.  “Res.”  According,  however,  to 
Donatus,  this  word  has  the  meaning  here  of  “malice”  or  “spitefiiL 
ness.” 


40 


ANDRIA : 


[Act  IV. 


Look  you,  I am  the  most  concerned  in  my  own  interests.”^ 
But  if  you  inquire  where  is  honor,  they  are  not  ashamed.^ 
Here,  where  there  is  occasion,  they  are  not  afraid;  there, 
where  there  is  no  occasion,  they  are  afraid.  But  what  am  I 
to  do"?  Ought  I not  to  go  to  him,  and  reason  with  him 
upon  this  outrage,  and  heap  many  an  invective  upon 
Yet  some  one  may  say,  ‘^you  will  avail  nothing.”  Nothing? 
At  least  I shall  have  vexed  him,  and  have  given  vent  to  my 
own  feelings. 

Scene  II. 

Eater  Pampiiilus  and  Davus. 

Pam.  Charinus,  unintentionally  I have  ruined  both  myself 
and  you,  unless  the  Gods  in  some  way  befriend  us. 

Char.  Unintentionally,  is  it ! An  excuse  has  been  discov- 
ered at  last.  Y'ou  have  broken  your  word. 

Pam.  How  so,  pray? 

Char.  Do  you  expect  to  deceive  me  a second  time  by 
these  speeches? 

Pam.  What  does  this  mean  ? 

Char.  Since  I told  you  that  I loved  her,  she  has  become 
quite  pleasing  to  you.  Ah  wretched  me ! to  have  judged  of 
your  disposition  from  my  own. 

Pam.  You  are  mistaken. 

Char.  Did  this  pleasure  appear  to  you  not  to  be  quite  com- 
plete, unless  you  tantalized  me  in  my  passion,  and  lured  me 
on  by  groundless  hopes? — Y'^ou  may  take  her. 

Pam.  I,  take  her?  Alas!  you  know  not  in  what  perplex- 
ities, to  my  sorrow,  I am  involved,  and  what  vast  anxieties 
this  executioner  of  mine  {^pointing  to  Davus)  has  contrived 
for  me  by  his  devices. 

Char.  What  is  it  so  v/onderful,  if  he  takes  example  from 
yourself? 

^ Conesrned  in  my  own  interests) — Ver.  G37.  Equivalent  to  our  say- 
ings, “ Charity  begins  at  home;”  “ Take  care  of  number  one.” 

^ They  are  not  ashamed) — Ver.  G38.  Terence  has  probably  borrowed 
this  remark  from  the  Epidicus  of  Plautus,  1.  1G5-G:  “Generally  all 
men  are  ashamed  when  it  is  of  no  use ; when  they  ought  to  be  ashamed, 
tlien  does  shame  forsake  them,  when  occasion  is  for  them  to  be 
ashamed.” 


Sc.  IL] 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


41 


Pam.  You  would  not  say  that  if  you  understood  either  my- 
self or  my  affection. 

Char.  I’m  quite  aware  (ironically) ; you  have  just  now  had 
a dispute  with  your  father,  and  he  is  now  angry  with  you  in 
consequence,  and  has  not  been  able  to-day  to  prevail  upon 
you  to  marry  her. 

Pam.  No,  not  at  all, — as  you  are  not  acquainted  with  my 
sorrows,  these  nuptials  were  not  in  preparation  for  me ; and 
no  one  was  thinking  at  present  of  giving  me  a wife. 

Char.  I am  aware ; you  have  been  influenced  by  your 
own  inclination. 

Pam.  Hold  ; you  do  not  yet  know  all 

Char.  For  my  part,  I certainly  do  know  that  you  are 
about  to  marry  her. 

Pam.  Why  are  you  torturing  me  to  death  ? Listen  to  this. 
He  (pointing  to  Davus)  never  ceased  to  urge  me  to  tell  my  fa- 
ther that  I would  marry  her ; to  advise  and  persuade  me, 
even  until  he  compelled  me. 

Char.  Who  was  this  person  ? 

Pam.  Davus. 

Char.  Davus!  For  what  reason? 

Pam.  I don’t  know;  except  that  I must  have  been  under 
the  displeasure  of  th^  Gods,  for  me  to  have  listened  to  him. 

Char.  Is  this  the  fact,  Davus  ? 

Dav.  It  is  the  fact. 

Char,  (starting:)  Ha!  What  do  you  say,  you  villain? 
Then  may  the  Gods  send  you  an  end  worthy  of  your  deeds. 
Come  now,  tell  me,  if  all  his  enemies  had  wished  him  to  be 
plunged  into  a marriage,  what  advice  but  this  could  they 
luave  given  ? 

Dav.  I have  been  deceived,  but  I don’t  despair. 

Char,  (ironically.)  I’m  sure  of  that. 

Day.  This  way  it  has  not  succeeded ; we’ll  try  another. 
Unless,  perhaps,  you  think  that  because  it  failed  at  first,  this 
misfortune  can  not  now  possibly  be  changed  for  better  luck. 

Pam.  Certainly  not ; for  I quite  believe  that  if  you  set  about 
it,  you  will  be  making  two  marriages  for  me  out  of  one. 

Day.  I owe  you  this,  Pamphilus,  in  respect  of  my  servi- 
tude, to  strive  with  hands  and  feet,  night  and  day;  to  sub- 
mit to  hazard  of  my  life,  to  serve  you.  It  is  your  part,  if 
any  thing  has  fallen  out  contrary  to  expectation,  to  forgive 


42 


ANDRIA  ; 


[Act  IV. 


me.  What  I was  contriving  has  not  succeeded  ; still,  I am 
using  all  endeavors ; or,  do  you  yourself  devise  something  be^  . 
ter,  and  dismiss  me. 

Pam.  I wish  to ; restore  me  to  the  position  in  which  you 
found  me. 

Day.  ril  do  so. 

Pam.  But  it  must  be  done  directly. 

Pay.  But  the  door  of  Glycerium’s  house  here  makes  a 
noise.  1 

Pam.  Thafs  nothing  to  you. 

Day.  {assuming  an  attitude  of  meditation.)  I’m  in  search 
of 

Pam.  {ironically.)  Dear  me,  what,  now  at  last? 

Day.  Presently  I’ll  give  you  what  I’ve  hit  upon. 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Mysis  from  tJie  house  of  Glycerium. 

Mys.  {calling  at  the  door  to  Glygerium  within.)  Now, 
wherever  he  is,  I’ll  take  care  that  your  own  Pamphilus  shall 
be  found  for  you,  and  brought  to  you  by  me ; do  you  only, 
my  life,  cease  to  vex  yourself.  • 

Pam.  Mysis. 

Mys.  {turning  round.)  Who  is  it?  Why,  Pamphilus,  you 
do  present  yourself  opportunely  to  me.  My  mistress  charged 
me  to  beg  of  you,  if  you  love  her,  to  come  to  her  directly ; she 
says  she  wishes  to  see  you. 

Pam.  {aside.)  Alas  ! I am  undone ; this  dilemma  grows 
apace ! {To  Davus.)  For  me  and  her,  unfortunate  persons, 
now  to  be  tortured  this  way  through  your  means ; for  I am 
sent  for,  because  she  has  discovered  that  my  marriage  is  in 
preparation. 

^ Makes  a noise) — Ver.  683.  The  doors  with  the  Romans  opened  in- 
wardly, while  those  of  the  Greeks  opened  on  tlie  outside.  It  was  there- 
fore usual  with  them,  when  coming  out,  to  strike  the  door  on  the  in- 
side with  a stick  or  with  the  knuckles,  that  those  outside  might  be 
warned  to  get  out  of  the  way.  Patrick,  however,  observes  with  some 
justice,  that  the  word  “concrepuit”  may  here  allude  to  the  creaking  of 
the  hinges.  See  the  Curculio  of  Plautus,  1.  160,  w'here  the  Procuress 
pours  water  on  the  hinges,  in  order  that  Cappadox  may  not  hear  the 
opening  of  the  door. 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


43 


CnAK.  From  wliicli,  indeed,  how  easily  a respite  could  have 
been  obtained,  if  he  {pointing  to  Davus)  had  kept  himself  quiet. 

Dav.  {ironically  to  Do  proceed;  if  he  isn’t  suf- 

ficiently angry  of  his  own  accord,  do  you  irritate  liini. 

Mrs.  (to  Pamphilus.)  Aye  faith,  that  is  the  case ; and  for 
that  reason,  poor  thing,  she  is  now  in  distress. 

Pam.  Mysis,  I swear  by  all  the  Gods  that  I will  never  for- 
sake her ; not  if  I were  to  know  that  all  men  would  be  my 
enemies  in  consequence.  Her  have  I chosen  for  mine ; she 
has  fallen  to  my  lot;  our  feelings  are  congenial;  farewell 
they,  who  wish  for  a separation  between  us ; nothing  but 
Death  separates  her  from  me. 

Mys.  I begin  to  revive. 

Pam.  Not  the  responses  of  Apollo  are  more  true  than  this. 
If  it  can  possibly  be  contrived  that  my  father  may  not  believe 
that  this  marriage  has  been  broken  off  through  me,  I could 
wish  it.  But  if  that  can  not  be,  I will  do  that  which  is  easi- 
ly effected,  for  him  to  believe  that  through  me  it  has  been 
caused.  What  do  you  think  of  me  ? 

Chak.  That  you  are  as  unhappy  as  myself. 

Dav.  {placing  his  finger  on  his  forehead,)  I’m  contriving  an 
expedient. 

Chak.  You  are  a clever  hand  ; if  you  do  set  about  any  thing. 

Day.  Assuredly,  I’ll  manage  this  for  you. 

Pam.  There’s  need  of  it  now. 

Dav.  But  I’ve  got  it  now. 

CuAK.  What  is  it? 

Day.  For  him  {pointing  to  Paimpiiilus)  I’ve  got  it,  not  for 
you,  don’t  mistake. 

CiiAK.  I’m  quite  satisfied. 

Pam.  What  will  you  do  ? Tell  me. 

Day.  I’m  afraid  that  this  day  won’t  be  long  enough  for 
me  to  execute  it,  so  don’t  suppose  that  I’ve  now  got  leisure 
for  relating  it ; do  you  betake  yourself  off  at  once,  for  you  are 
a liinderance  to  me. 

Pam.  I’ll  go  and  see  her.  {Goes  into  the  house  o/Glycerium.) 

Day.  {to  Charinus.)  What  are  you  going  to  do  ^ Whither 
are  you  going  from  here  ? 

Char.  Do  you  wish  me  to  tell  you  the  truth  ? 

Dav.  No,  not  at  all ; {aside)  he’s  making  the  beginning  of 
a long  story  for  me. 


44 


ANDHIA; 


[Act  IV. 


Char.  What  will  become  of  me  1 

Dav.  Come  now,  you  unreasonable  person,  are  you  not 
satisfied  that  I give  you  a little  respite,  by  putting  off  his 
marriage  ? 

Char.  But  yet,  Davus 

Dav.  What  then  ? 

Char.  That  I may  marry  her 

Dav.  Absurd. 

Char.  Be  sure  to  come  hither  {pointing  in  the  direction  of 
his  house)  to  my  house,  if  you  can  effect  any  thing. 

Dav.  Why  should  I come?  I can  do  nothing /b?* 

Char.  But  still,  if  any  thing 

Dav.  Well,  well,  I’ll  come. 

Char.  If  you  can  ; I shall  be  at  home.  {Exit, 

Scene  IV. 

Mysis  and  Davus. 

Dav.  Do  you,  Mysis,  remain  here  a little  while,  until  I 
come  out. 

Mys.  For  what  reason? 

Dav.  There’s  a necessity  for  so  doing. 

Mys.  Make  haste. 

Dav\  I’ll  be  here  this  moment,  I tell  you.  {He  goes  into 
the  house  of  Glycerium.) 

Scene  Y. 

Mysis  alone. 

Mys.  {to  herself.)  That  nothing  can  be  secure  to  any  one ! 
Ye  Gods,  by  our  trust  in  you  ! I used  to  make  sure  that  this 
Pamphilus  was  a supreme  blessing  for  my  mistress ; a friend, 
a protector,  a husband  secured  under  every  circumstance ; yet 
what  anguish  is  she,  poor  thing,  now  suffering  through  him  ? 
Clearly  there’s  more  trouble  for  her  now  than  there  teas  hap- 
piness formerly.  But  Davus  is  coming  out. 

Scene  VI. 

Enter  Davus  from  the  house  of  Gly’Cerium  ivith  the  child. 

Mys.  My  good  sir,  prithee,  what  is  that?  "Whither  are 
you  carrying  the  child  ? 


Sc.  VL] 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


45 


Dav.  Mysis,  I now  stand  in  need  of  your  cunning  being 
brought  into  play  in  this  matter,  and  of  your  address. 

Mys.  Why,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? 

Day.  {holding  out  the  child.)  Take  it  from  me  directly,  and 
lay  it  down  before  our  door. 

Mys.  Prithee,  on  the  ground  ? 

Day.  {idointing.)  Take  some  sacred  herbs^  from  the  altar 
here,2  and  strew  them  under  it. 

Mys.  Why  don’t  you  do  it  yourself  ? 

Day.  That  if  perchance  I should  have  to  swear  to  my 
master  that  I did  not  place  it  there,  I may  be  enabled  to  do 
so  with  a clear  conscience. 

Mys.  I understand ; have  these  new  scruples  only  just  now 
occurred  to  you,  pray? 

Day.  Bestir  yourself  quickly,  that  you  may  learn  what 
I’m  going  to  do  next.  (My’SI's  laijs  the  child  at  SiMo’s  door.) 
Oh  Jupiter! 

Mys.  {starting  iij).)  What’s  the  matter? 

Day.  The  father  of  the  intended  bride  is  coming  in  the 
middle  of  it  all.  The  plan  which  I had  first  purposed  I noiv 
give  up.^ 

AIys.  I don’t  understand  what  you  are  talking  about. 

Day.  I’ll  pretend  too  that  I’ve  come  in  this  direction  from 
the  right.  Do  you  take  care  to  help  out  the  conversation  by 
your  words,  whenever  there’s  necessity.'^ 

’ Take  some  sacred  herbs) — Ver.  727.  “Verbena”  appears  to  have 
been  a general  term  applied  to  any  kind  of  herb  used  in  honor  of  the 
Deities,  or  to  the  boughs  and  leaves  of  any  tree  gathered  from  a pure 
or  sacred  place.  Fresh  “ verbence”  were  placed  upon  the  altars  every 
day.  See  the  Mercator  of  Plautus,  1.  672. 

^ From  the  altar  here) — Ver.  727.  It  was  usual  to  have  altars  on  the 
stage  ; when  Comedy  was  performed,  one  on  the  left  hand  in  honor  of 
Apollo,  and  on  the  representation  of  Tragedy,  one  on  the  right  in  hon- 
or of  Bacchus.  It  has  been  suggested  that  Terence  here  alludes  to  the 
former  of  these.  As,  however,  at  Athens  almost  every  house  had  its 
own  altar  in  honor  of  Apollo  Prostaterius  just  outside  of  the  street  door, 
it  is  most  probable  that  to  one  of  these  altars  reference  is  here  made. 
They  are  frequently  alluded  to  in  the  Plays  of  Plautus. 

^ Which  I had  first  purposed^  I now  give  up) — Ver.  734.  His  first  in- 
tention no  doubt  was  to  go  and  inform  Simo  of  the  child  being  laid  at 
the  door. 

* Whenever  therds  necessity) — Ver.  737.  He  retires  without  fully  ex- 
plaining his  intention  to  Mysis  ; consequently,  in  the  next  Scene  she 
gives  an  answer  to  Chremes  which  Davus  does  not  intend. 


46 


ANDRIA ; 


[Act  IV. 


Mys.  1 don’t  at  all  comprehend  what  you  are  about;  but 
if  there’s  any  thing  in  which  you  have  need  of  my  assistance, 
as  you  understand  the  best,  I’ll  stay,  that  I mayn’t  in  any 
way  impede  your  success.  (Davus  retires  out  of  sight,) 

Scene  VII. 

Enter  Ciiremes  on  the  other  side  of  the  stage^  (/oing  toward 
the  house  of  SiMO. 

Chrem.  {to  himself)  After  having  provided  the  things  nec- 
essary for  my  daughter’s  nuptials.  I’m  returning,  that  I may 
request  her  to  be  sent  for.  {Seeing  the  child,)  But  what’s 
this?  I’faith,  it’s  a child.  {Addressing  Mrsis.)  Woman, 
have  you  laid  that  here  {pointing  to  the  child)% 

Mys.  {aside^  looking  out  for  Davus.)  Where  is  he  ? 

Chrem.  Don’t  you  answer  me? 

Mys.  {looking  about,  to  herself.)  He  isn’t  any  where  to  be 
seen.  Woe  to  wretched  me  I the  fellow  has  left  me  and  is  off. 

Dav.  {coming  forward  and  pretending  not  to  see  them,)  Ye 
Gods,  by  our  trust  in  you!  what  a crowd  there  is  in  the  Fo- 
rum I What  a lot  of  people  are  squabbling  there!  {Aloud.) 
Then  provisions  are  so  dear.  {Aside.)  What  to  say  besides,  I 
don’t  know.  (Ciiremes  passes  by  Mysis,  and  goes  to  a distance 
at  the  back  of  the  stage,) 

Mys.  Pray,  why  did  you  leave  me  here  alone? 

Dav.  {pretending  to  start  on  seeing  the  child.)  Ha!  what 
story  is  this?  How  now,  Mysis,  whence  comes  this  child? 
Who  has  brought  it  here  ? 

Mys.  Are  you  quite  right  in  your  senses,  to  be  asking  me 
that? 

Dav.  Whom,  then,  ought  I to  ask,  as  I don’t  see  any  one 
else  here  ? 

Chrem.  {apart  to  himself.)  I wonder  whence  it  has  come. 

Dav.  Are  you  going  to  tell  me  what  I ask  ? 

Mys.  Pshaw! 

Dav.  {in  a whisper,)  Step  aside  to  the  right.  {They  retire 
on  one  side.) 

Mys.  You  are  out  of  your  senses ; didn’t  you  your  own  self? 

Dav.  {in  a low  voice,)  Take  you  care  not  to  utter  a single 
word  beyond  what  I ask  you.  Why  don’t  you  say  aloud 
whence  it  comes  ? 

Mys.  {in  a loud  voice.)  From  our  house. 


Sc.  VII.]  THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN.  47 

Dav.  {affecting  indignation-)  Heyday,  indeed!  it  really  is  a 
wonder  if  a woman,  who  is  a courtesan,  acts  impudently. 

ChrExM.  {apart)  So  far  as  I can  learn,  this  woman  belongs 
to  the  Andrian. 

Dav.  Do  we  seem  to  you  such  very  suitable  persons  for 
you  to  be  playing  tricks  with  us  in  this  way "? 

Chrem.  {apart)  I ccLm^jast  in  time. 

Dav.  Make  haste  then,  and  take  the  child  away  from  the 
door  here:  {in  a low  voice)  stay  there;  take  care  you  don’t  stir 
from  that  spot. 

Mys.  {aside.)  May  the  Gods  confound  you ! you  do  so  ter- 
rify poor  me. 

Dav.  {in  a loud  voice.)  Is  it  to  you  I speak  or  not? 

Mys.  What  is  it  you  want  ? 

Dav.  {aloud.)  What — do  you  ask  me  again?  Tell  me, 
whose  child  have  you  been  laying  here?  Let  me  know. 

Mys.  Don’t  you  know  ? 

Dav.  {in  a low  voice.)  Have  done  with  what  I know ; tell 
me  what  I ask. 

Mys.  {aloud.)  It  belongs  to  your  people. 

Dav.  {aloud.  Which  of  our  people  ? 

Mys.  {aloud.)  To  Pamphilus. 

Dav.  {affecting  surprise  in  a loud  tone.)  How?  What — to 
Pamphilus? 

Mys.  {aloud.)  Haw  now — is  it  not  so? 

Chre3I.  {apart.)  With  good  reason  have  I always  been 
averse  to  this  match,  it’s  clear. 

Dav.  {calling  aloud.)  O abominable  piece  of  effrontery! 

Mys.  Why  are  you  bawling  out  so  ? 

Dav.  {aloud.)  What,  the  very  one  I saw  being  carried  to 
your  house  yesterday  evening  ? 

Mys.  O you  impudent  fellow ! 

Dav.  {aloud.)  It’s  the  truth.  I saw  Canthara  stuffed  out 
beneath  her  clothes.' 

Mys.  I’faith,  I thank  the  Gods  that  several  free  women 
were  present^  at  the  delivery. 

^ Stuffed  out  beneath  her  clothes) — Yqx.  771.  ‘‘ Suffarcinatam.”  He 
alludes  to  the  trick  already  referred  to  as  common  among  the  Greeks, 
of  the  nurses  and  midwives  secretly  introducing  supposititious  children ; 
see  1.  515  and  the  Note. 

* Several  jree  women  were  present) — Ver.  772.  She  speaks  of  ‘‘  libe- 


48 


ANDRIA ; 


[Act  IV. 


Dav.  {aloud,)  Assuredly  she  doesn’t  know  him,  on  whose 
account  she  resorts  to  these  schemes.  Chremes,  she  fancies^ 
if  he  sees  the  child  laid  before  the  door,  will  not  give  his 
daughter ; i’faith,  he’ll  give  her  all  the  sooner. 

Chrem.  (apart.)  I’faith,  he’ll  not  do  so. 

Dav.  (aloud,)  Now  therefore,  that  you  may  be  quite  awire, 
if  you  don’t  take  up  the  child.  I’ll  roll  it  forthwith  into  the 
middle  of  the  road ; and  yourself  in  the  same  place  I’ll  roll 
over  into  the  mud. 

Mys.  Upon  my  word,  man,  you  are  not  sober. 

Dav.  (aloud.)  One  scheme  brings  on  another.  I now  hear 
it  whispered  about  that  she  is  a citizen  of  Attica 

Chrem.  (apart.)  Ha ! 

Dav.  (aloud.)  And  that,  constrained  by  the  laws,^  he  will 
have  to  take  her  as  his  wife. 

Mys.  Well  now,  pray,  is  she  not  a citizen? 

Chrem.  (apart,)  I had  almost  fallen  unawares  into  a com- 
ical misfortune.  (Comes  forward,) 

Dav.  Who’s  that,  speaking  ? (Pretending  to  look  about,) 
O Chremes,  you  have  come  in  good  time.  Do  listen  to  this. 

Chrem.  I have  heard  it  all  already. 

Dav.  Prithee,  did  you  hear  it  ? Here’s  villainy  for  you  I 
she  (pointing  at  My  sis)  ought  to  be  carried  off^  hence  to  the 
torture  forthwith.  (To  Mysis,  pointing  at  Chremes.)  This  is 
Chremes  himself;  don’t  suppose  that  yqu  are  trifling  with 
Davus  only, 

Mys.  Wretched  me  ! upon  my  faith  I have  told  no  untruth, 
my  Ivor  thy  old  gentleman. 

Chrem.  I know  the  whole  affair.  Is  Simo  within  ? 

Dav.  He  is.  (Chremes  goes  into  Simo’s  house,) 

raj,”  free  women,”  because  in  Greece  as  well  as  Italy  slaves  were  not 
permitted  to  give  evidence.  See  the  Curculio  of  Plautus,  1.  621,  and 
the  Note  to  the  passage  in  Bohn’s  Translation.  ’ See  also  the  remark 
of  Geta  in  the  Phormio,  1.  293. 

’ Constrained  by  the  laws) — Yer.  782.  He  alludes  to  a law  at  Athens 
which  compelled  a man  who  had  debauched  a free-born  woman  to  mar- 
ry her.  This  is  said  hy  Davus  with  the  view  of  frightening  Chremes 
from  the  match. 

^ She  ought  to  he  carried  off) — Ver.  787.  He  says  this  implying  that 
Mysis,  who  is  a slave,  ought  to  be  put  to  the  torture  to  confess  the 
truth ; as  it  was  the  usual  method  at  Athens  to  force  a confession  from 
slaves  by  that  method.  We  find  in  the  Hecyra,  Bacchis  readily  offer- 
ing her  slaves  to  be  put  to  the  torture,  and  in  the  Adelphi  the  same 
custom  is  alluded  to  in  the  Scene  between  IMicio,  Hegio,  and  Geta. 


Sc.  IX.] 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


40 


Scene  VIII. 

Davus  and  AIysis. 

^AIys.  (Davus  attempting  to  caress  her.)  Don’t  touch  me, 
villain.  {Moving  away.)  On  iny  word,  if  I don’t  tell  Glyceri- 
um  all  this 

Day.  Flow  now,  simpleton,  don’t  you  know  what  has  been 
done  ? 

Mys.  How  should  I know  ? 

Day.  This  is  the  bride’s  father.  It  couldn’t  any  other 
way  have  been  managed  that  he  should  know  the  things  that 
Y^e  Avanted  him  to  knoY\ 

Mys.  ITou  should  haYe  told  me  that  before. 

Day.  Do  you  suppose  that  it  makes  little  difference  wheth- 
er you  do  things  according  to  impulse,  as  nature  prompts,  or 
from  premeditation  ? 

Scene  IX. 

Enter  Ckito,  looking  about  him. 

Crito  {to  himself.)  It  was  said  that  Chrysis  used  to  live 
in  this  street,  who  preferred  to  gain  wealth  here  dishonorably 
to  living  honestly  cis  a poor  woman  in  her  o\vn  country : by 
her  death  that  property  has  descended  to  me  by  huv.’  But  I 
see  some  persons  of  whom  to  make  inquiry.  {Accosting  them.) 
Good-morrow  to  you. 

jMys.  Prithee,  whom  do  I sec?  Isn’t  this  Crito,  the  kins- 
man of  Chrysis  ? It  is  he. 

Cki.  O Mysis,  greetings  to  you. 

Mys.  Welcome  to  you,  Crito. 

Cri.  Is  Chrysis  then Alas! 


^ Descended  to  me  hy  law) — Yer.  800.  On  the  supposition  that  Chiy- 
sis  died  without  a will,  Crito  as  her  next  of  kin  would  be  entitled  "to 
her  effects. 

^ Is  Chrysis  then ?) — Yer.  804.  This  is  an  instance  of  Aposio- 

pesis ; Crito,  much  affected,  is  unwilling  to  name  the  death  of  Chrysis. 
It  was  deemed  of  ill  omen  to  mention  death,  and  numerous  Euphe- 
misms or  circumlocutions  were  employed  in  order  to  avoid  the  neces- 
sity of  doing  so. 

c 


50  ANDPJA  [Act  IV.,  Sc.  IX. 

Mys.  Too  truly.  She  has  indeed  left  us  poor  creature?^ 
quite  heart-broken. 

Cki.  How  fare  you  here,  and  in  what  fashion '?  Pretty ' 
well  ? 

Mys.  What,  we?  Just  as  we  can,  as  they  say;  since  we 
can’t  as  we  would. 

Cki.  How  is  Glyceriurn  ? Has  she  discovered  her  parents 
yet  ? 

Mys.  I wish  she  had. 

Cki.  What,  not  yet?  With  no  favorable  omen  did  I set 
out  for  this  place ; for,  upon  my  faith,  if  I had  known  that, 

I never  would  have  moved  a foot  hither.  She  was  always 
said  to  be,  and  was  looked  upon  as  her  sister;  what  things 
were  hers  she  is  in  possession  of ; now  for  me  to  begin  a suit 
at  law  here,  tlie  precedents  of  others  warn  me,  a stranger,^ 
how  easy  and  profitable  a task  it  would  be  for  me.  At  the 
same  time,  I suppose  that  by  this  she  has  got  some  friend  and 
protector;  for  she  was  pretty  nearly  a grown-up  girl  when 
she  left  there.  They  would  cry  out  that  I am  a sharper ; 
that,  a pauper,  I’m  hunting  after  an  inheritance ; besides,  I 
shouldn’t  like  to  strip  the  girl  herself. 

Mys.  O most  worthy  stranger!  I’faith,  Crito,  you  still 
adhere  to  your  good  old-fashioned  ways. 

Cki.  Lead  me  to  her,  since  I have  come  hither,  that  I may 
see  her. 

My^s.  By  all  means.  (The7j  go  into  the  house  of  Glyce- 

KIUM.) 

Day.  {to  himself.)  I’ll  follow  them  ; I don’t  wish  the  old 
man  to  see  me  at  this  moment.  {He  follows  Mysis  and 
Ckito.) 


^ Warn  ine^  a stranger) — Ver.  812.  Patrick  lias  the  following  re- 
marks upon  this  passage : “ Madame  Dacier  observes  that  it  appears, 
from  Xenophon’s  Treatise  on  the  policy  of  the  Athenians,  that  all  the. 
inhabitants  of  cities  and  islands  in  alliance  with  Athens  were  obliged 
in  all  claims  to  repair  thither,  and  refer  their  cause  to  the  decision  of 
the  people,  not  being  permitted  to  plead  elsewhere.  We  can  not  won- 
der then  that  Crito  is  unwilling  to  engage  in  a suit  so  inconvenient 
from  its  length,  expense,  and  little  prospect  of  success.”  She  might 
have  added  that  such  was  the  partiality  and  corruptness  of  the  Atheni- 
an people,  that,  being  a stranger,  his  chances  of  success  would  proba- 
bly be  materially  diminished. 


Act  V.,  Sc.  I.] 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


51 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Chremes  and  Simo  from  the  house  of  Simo. 

Chrem.  Enough  already,  enough,  Simo,  has  my  friendship 
toward  you  been  proved.  Sufficient  hazard  have  I begun  to 
encounter;  make  an  end  of  your  entreaties,  then.  While 
I’ve  been  endeavoring  to  oblige  you.  I’ve  almost  fooled  away 
my  daughter’s  prospects  in  life. 

Sim.  Nay  but,  now  in  especial,  Chremes,  I do  beg  and  en- 
treat of  you,  that  the  favor,  commenced  a short  time  since  in 
words,  you’ll  now  complete  by  deeds. 

Chrem.  See  how  unreasonable  you  are  from  your  very 
earnestness ; so  long  as  you  effect  what  you  desire,  you  nei- 
ther think  of  limits  to  compliance,  nor  what  it  is  you  request 
of  me ; for  if  you  did  think,  you  would  now  forbear  to  trouble 
me  with  unreasonable  requests. 

Sim.  What  unreasonable  requests  ? 

Chrem.  Do  you  ask*?  You  importuned  me  to  promise  my 
daughter  to  a young  man  engaged  in  another  attachment, 
averse  to  the  marriage  state,  to  plunge  her  into  discord  and 
a marriage  of  uncertain  duration ; that  through  her  sorrow 
and  her  anguish  I might  reclaim  your  son.  You  prevailed; 
while  the  case  admitted  of  it  I made  preparations.  Now  it 
does  not  admit  of  it ; you  must  put  up  with  it ; they  say  that 
she  is  a citizen  of  this  place  ; a child  has  been  born  ; do  cease 
to  trouble  us. 

Sim.  By  the  Gods,  I do  conjure  you  not  to  bring  your 
mind  to  believe  those  whose  especial  interest  it  is  that  ho 
should  be  as  degraded  as  possible.  On  account  of  the  mar- 
riage, have  all  these  things  been  feigned  and  contrived.  When 
the  reason  for  which  they  do  these  things  is  removed  from 
them,  they  will  desist. 

Chrem.  You  are  mistaken  ; I myself  saw  the  servant-maid 
wranglino;  with  Davus. 

Sim.  [sneeringly.)  I am  aware. 

Chrem.  With  an  appearance  of  earnestness,  when  neither 
at  the  moment  perceived  that  I was  present  there. 


52 


ANDRIA ; 


[Act  V. 


SiJM.  I believe  it ; and  Davus  a short  time  since  forewarned 
me  that  this  would  be  the  case ; and  I don’t  know  how  I for- 
got to  tell  it  you  to-day,  as  I had  intended. 

Scene  II. 

Enter  Davus  from  the  house  of  Glycerium. 

Dav.  {aloud  at  the  door^  not  seeing  Simo  and  Ciiremes.) 
Now  then,  I bid  you  set  your  minds  at  ease. 

Chrem.  {to  Smo.)  See  you,  there’s  Davus. 

Sim.  From  what  house  is  he  coming  out  ? 

Dav.  {to  himself)  Through  my  means,  and  that  of  the 
stranger 

Sim.  {overhearing.)  What  mischief  is  this  ^ 

Dav.  {to  himself)  I never  did  see  a more  opportune  person, 
encounter,  or  occasion. 

Sim.  The  rascal!  I wonder  who  it  is  he’s  praising? 

Dav.  All  the  affair  is  now  in  a safe  position. 

Sim.  Why  do  I delay  to  accost  him  ? 

Dav.  {to  himself  catching  sight  of  Simo.)  It’s  my  master ; 
Vvdmt  am  I to  do? 

Sim.  {accosting  him.)  O,  save  you,  good  sir ! 

Dav.  {affecting  surprise.)  Hah ! Simo ! O,  Chremes,  my 
dear  sir,  all  things  are  now  quite  ready  in-doors. 

Sim.  {ironically.)  You  have  taken  such  very  good  care. 

Dav.  Send  for  the  bride  when  you  like. 

Sim.  Very  good : {ironically)  of  course,  that’s  the  only 
thing  that’s  now  wanting  here.  But  do  you  answer  me  this, 
what  business  had  you  there  ? {Pointing  to  the  house  of  Gly- 

CERIUM.) 

Dav.  What,  I? 

Sim.  Just  so. 

Dav.  I? 

Sim.  Yes,  you. 

Dav.  I went  in  just  now. 

Sim.  As  if  I asked  how  long  ago ! 

Dav.  Together  with  your  son. 

Sim.  What,  is  Phamphilus  in  there  f {Aside.)  To  my  con- 
fusion, I’m  on  the  rack!  {To  Davus.)  How  now?  Didn’t 
you  say  that  there  was  enmity  between  them,  you  scoundrel? 

Dav.  There  is. 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


Sim.  Why  is  he  there,  then? 

CiiREM.  Why  do  you  suppose  he  is?  {Ironically.)  Quar- 
reling with  her,  of  coarse. 

Dav.  Nay  but,  Chremes,  I’ll  let  you  now  hear  from  me  a 
disgraceful  piece  of  business.  An  old  man,  I don’t  know  who 
he  is,  has  just  now  come  here;  look  you,  he  is  a confident 
and  shrewd  person  ; when  you  look  at  his  appearance,  he 
seems  to  be  a person  of  some  consequence.  There  is  a grave 
sternness  in  his  features,  and  something  commanding  in  his 
words. 

Sim.  What  neivs  are  you  bringing,  I wonder? 

Day.  Why  nothing  but  what  I heard  him  mention. 

Si3i.  What  does  he  say  then  ? 

Day.  That  he  knows  Glyceriiim  to  be  a citizen  of  Attica. 

Sim.  {going  to  his  door.)  Ho  there ! Dromo,  Dromo  ! 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Dromo  hastily  frjoin  the  house. 

Dro.  What  is  it  ? 

Sim.  Dromo! 

Day.  Flear  me. 

Sim.  If  you  add  a word Dromo ! 

Day.  Hear  me,  pray. 

Dro.  {to  SiMO.)  What  do  you  want? 

Sim.  {pointing  to  Davus.)  Carry  him  off  on  your  shoulders 
in-doors  as  fast  as  possible. 

Dro.  Whom? 

Sim.  Davus. 

Day.  For  what  reason? 

Sim.  Because  I choose.  {To  Dromo.)  Carry  him  off,  I say. 

Day.  What  have  I done? 

Sim.  Carry  him  otf. 

Day.  If  you  find  that  I have  told  a lie  in  any  one  matter, 
then  kill  me. 

Sim.  I’ll  hear  nothing.  I’ll  soon  have  you  set  in  motion.^ 

* You  set  in  motion) — Ver.  865.  By  the  use  of  the  word  “ Commo- 
tus”  he  seems  to  allude  to  the  wretched,  restless  existence  of  a man 
tied  hand  and  foot,  and  continually  working  at  the  hand-mill.  West- 
erhovius  thinks  that  Simo  uses  this  word  sarcastically,  in  allusion  to  the 
words  of  Davus,  at  the  beginning  of  the  present  Scene,  “ Animo  otioso 
esse  impero  “I  bid  you  set  your  minds  at  ease.’* 


54 


ANDllIA ; 


[Act  V. 


Dav.  Wliat^  Althongh  this  is  the  truth. 

Sim.  In  spite  of  it.  Dkomo.)  Take  care  he’s  kept  well 
secured;  and,  do  you  hear?  Tie  him  up  hands  and  feet 
together.^  Now  then,  be  off ; upon  my  faith  this  very  day,  if 
I live.  I’ll  teach  you  what  hazard  there  is  in  deceiving  a mas- 
ter, and  him  in  deceiving  a father.  (Dromo  leads  into 

the  house.) 

CiiREM.  Oh,  don’t  be  so  extremely  vexed. 

Sim.  O Chremes,  the  dutifulness  of  a son  ! Do  you  not 
pity  me  ? That  I should  endure  so  much  trouble  for  such  a 
son!  {Goes  to  the  door  of  Gt.ycerium’s  house,)  Come,  Pam- 
philus,  come  out,  Pamphilus ! have  you  any  shame  left  ? 

Scene  IV. 

Enter  PAMriiiLus  in  haste  from  Glycepjum’s  house, 

Pam.  Who  is  it  that  Avants  me?  {Aside.)  I’m  undone!  it’s 
my  father. 

Sim.  What  say  you,  of  all  men,  the ? 

Ciirem.  Oh  ! rather  speak  about  the  matter  itself,  and  for- 
bear to  use  harsh  language. 

Sim.  As  if  any  thing  too  severe  could  noAv  be  possibly  said 
against  him.  Pray,  do  you  say  that  Gly cerium  is  a citizen — 

Pam.  So  they  say. 

Sim.  So  they  say ! Unparalleled  assurance ! does  he  con- 
sider what  he  says?  Is  he  sorry  for  what  he  has  done? 
Does  his  countenance,  pray,  at  all  betray  any  marks  of  shame? 
That  he  should  be  of  mind  so  weak,  as,  without  regard  to  the 
custom  and  the  law^  of  his  fellow-citizens,  and  the  wish  of 
his  own  father,  to  be  anxious,  in  spite  of  every  thing,  to  have 
her,  to  his  own  utter  disgrace ! 

Pam.  Miserable  that  I am ! 

Sim.  Ha ! have  you  at  last  found  that  out  only  just  now, 
Pamphilus?  Long  since  did  that  expression,  long  since,  when 

^ Hands  and  feet  together) — Ver.  866.  “ QiiadrupedeiTi.”  Literally 
“ as  a quadruped”  or  “all  fours.”  Echard  remarks  that  it  was  the  cus- 
tom of  the  Athenians  to  tie  criminals  hands  and  feet  together,  just  like 
calves. 

^ Without  regard  to  the  custom  and  the  law) — Ver.  880.  There  was  a law 
among  the  Athenians  which  forbade  citizens  to  marry  strangers,  and  made 
the  offspring  of  such  alliances  illegitimate ; the  same  law  also  excluded 
such  as  were  not  born  of  two  citizens  from  all  offices  of  trust  and  honor. 


Sc.  V.] 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


55 


you  made  up  your  mind,  that  what  you  desired  must  be  ef- 
fected by  you  at  any  price ; from  that  very  day  did  that  ex- 
2')ression  aptly  belit  you.  But  yet  why  do  I torment  myself? 
.Why  vex  myself?  Why  worry  my  old  age  with  this  mad- 
ness? Am  I to  suffer  the  punishment  for  his  offenses  ? Nay 
then,  let  him  have  her,  good-by  to  him,  let  him  pass  his  life 
with  her. 

Pam.  My  hither 

Sim.  How,  “ my  father  ?”  As  if  you  stood  in  any  need  of 
this  father.  Home,  wife,  and  children,  provided  hy  you 
against  the  will  of  your  father ! People  suborned,  too^  to  say 
that  she  is  a citizen  of  this  place ! You  have  gained  your 
point. 

^Pam.  Father,  may  I say  a few  words  ? 

-^SiM.  What  can  you  say  to  me  ? 

Cheem.  But,  Simo,  do  hear  him. 

Sim.  I,  hear  him?  Why  should  I hear  him,  Chremes? 

Chrem.  Still,  however,  do  allow  him  to  speak. 

Sim.  Well  then,  let  him  speak : I allow  him. 

Pam.  I own  that  I love  her ; if  that  is  committing  a fault, 
I own  that  also.  To  you,  father,  do  I subject  myself.  Im- 
pose on  me  any  injunction  you  please ; command  me.  Do 
you  wish  me  to  take  a wife?  Do  you  wish  me  to  give  her 
up  ? As  well  a's  I can,  I will  endure  it.  This  only  I request 
of  you,  not  to  think  that  this  old  gentleman  has  been  suborn- 
ed by  me.  Allow  me  to  clear  myself,  and  to  bring  him  here 
before  you. 

Sim.  To  bring  him  here? 

Pam.  Do  allow  me,  father. 

Chrem.  Fie  asks  what’s  reasonable ; do  give  him  leave. 

Pam.  Allow  me  to  obtain  thus  much  of  you. 

Sim.  I allow  it.  I desire  any  thing,  so  long  as  I find, 
Chremes,  that  I have  not  been  deceived  by  him.  (Pamphi- 
Lus  goes  into  the  house  of  Glycerium.) 

/ Chrem.  For  a great  offense,  a slight  punishment  ought  to 
satisfy  a father. 

Scene  V. 

Re-enter  Paimphilus  with  Crito. 

Cri.  {to  Pamphilus,  as  he  is  coming  out.)  Forbear  entreat- 
ing. Of  these,  any  one  reason  prompts  me  to  do  it^  either 


ANDRIA ; 


50 


[Act’y. 


your  own  sake,  or  the  fact  that  it  is  the  truth,  or  that  I wish 
well  for  Glycerium  herself. 

CiiREM.  (starting,)  Do  I sec  Crito  of  Andros?  Surely  it 
is  he. 

Cki.  Greetings  to  you,  Chremes. 

CiiREM.  How  is  it  that,  so  contrary  to  your  usage,  you  are 
at  Athens? 

Cri.  So  it  has  happened.  But  is  this  Simo? 

Chrem.  It  is  he. 

Cri.  Simo,  were  you  asking  for  me? 

Sim.  How  now,  do  you  say  that  Glycerium  is  a citizen  of 
this  place? 

Cri.  Do  you  deny  it  ? 

Sim.  (ironically.)  Have  you  come  here  so  well  prepared? 

Cri.  For  what  purpose  ? 

Sim.  Do  you  ask?  Are  you  to  be  acting  this  way  with 
impunity?  Are  you  to  be  luring  young  men  into  snares 
here,  inexperienced  in  affairs,  and  liberally  brought  up,  by 
tempting  them,  and  to  be  playing  upon  their  fancies  by  mak- 
ing promises  ? 

Cri.  Are  you  in  your  senses? 

Sim.  And  are  you  to  be  patching  up  amours  with  Courte- 
sans by  marriage  ? 

Fam.  (aside.)  I’m  undone ! I fear  that  the  stranger  will  not 
put  up  with  this. 

Chrem.  If,  Simo,  you  knew  this  person  well,  you  would 
not  think  thus ; he  is  a worthy  man. 

Sim.  He,  a worthy  man ! To  come  so  opportunely  to-day 
j7Ast  at  the  very  nuptials,  and  yet  never  to  have  come  before? 
(Ironically.)  Of  course,  we  must  believe  him,  Chremes. 

Pam.  (aside,)  If  I didn’t  dread  my  father,  I have  some- 
thing, which,  in  this  conjuncture,  I could  opportunely  suggest 
to  him.^ 


^ Could  opportunely  suggest  to  1dm) — Ver.  019.  Colman  has  the  fol- 
lowing remark  on  this  line : “ Madame  Dacier  and  several  English 
Translators  make  Pamphilns  say  that  he  could  give  Crito  a hint  or  two. 
What  hints  he  could  propose  to  suggest  to  Crito,  I can  not  conceive. 
The  Italian  translation,  printed  with  the  Vatican  Terence,  seems  to 
understand  the  words  in  the  same  manner  that  I have  translated  them, 
in  which  sense  (the  pronoun  ‘ilium’  referring  to  Simo  instead  of  Crito) 
they  seem  to  be  the  most  natural  words  of  Pamphilus  on  occasion  of 
his  father’s  anger  and  the  speech  immediately  preceding.” 


Sc.  V.] 


THE  FAIR  ANDRIAN. 


57 


Sim.  {sneeringhj^  to  Chremes.)  A sharper  ! ^ 

Cri.  {starting.)  Hah ! 

CriREM.  It  is  his  way,  Crito ; do  excuse  it. 

Cri.  Let  him  take  heed  how  he  behaves.  If  he  persists 
in  saying  to  me  what  he  likes,  he’ll  be  hearing  things  that  he 
don’t  like.  Am  I meddling  with  these  matters  or  interesting 
myself  ? Can  you  not  endure  your  troubles  with  a patient 
mind?  For  as  to  what  I say,  whether  it  is  true  or  false 
Avhat  I have  heard,  can  soon  be  known.  A certain  man  of 
Attica,  a long  time  ago,^  his  ship  being  wrecked,  was  cast 
ashore  at  Andros,  and  this  woman  together  with  him,  who 
was  then  a little  girl ; he,  in  his  destitution,  by  chance  first 
made  application  to  the  father  of  Chrysis 

Sim.  {ironically.)  He’s  beginning  his  tale. 

CiiREM.  Let  him  alone. 

Cri.  Keally,  is  he  to  be  interrupting  me  in  this  way  ? 

Chrem.  Do  you  proceed. 

Cri.  He  who  received  him  wms  a relation  of  mine.  There 
I heard  from  him  that  he  was  a native  of  Attica.  He  died 
there. 

C II REM.  Flis  name  ? 

Cri.  The  name,  in  such  a hurry ! 

Pam.  Phania. 

CiiREM.  {starting.)  Hah  ! I shall  die ! 

Cri.  rfaith,  I really  think  it  was  Phania;  this  I know  for 
certain,  he  said  that  he  was  a citizen  of  Khamnus.^ 

Chrem.  O Jupiter ! 


^ A sharper) — Ver.  920.  “ Sycophanta.”  For  some  account  of  the 
“ sycophantse,”  “swindlers”  or  “sharpers”  of  ancient  times,  see  the 
Notes  to  the  Trinummus  of  Plautus,  Bohn’s  Translation. 

^ A long  time  ago) — Ver.  924.  The  story  begins  with  “ Olim,”  just  in 
the  same  w^ay  that  with  us  nursery  tales  commence  with  “ There  was, 
a long  time  ago.” 

^ A citizen  of  Rhamnus) — Ver.  931.  Rhamnus  was  a maritime  town 
of  Attica,  near  which  many  of  the  more  wealthy  Athenians  had  coun- 
try-seats. It  was  famous  for  the  Temple  of  Nemesis  there,  the  Goddess 
of  Vengeance,  who  was  thence  called  “Rhamnusia.”  In  this  Temple 
was  her  statue,  carved  by  Phidias  out  of  the  marble  which  the  Persians 
brought  to  Greece  for  the  purpose  of  making  a statue  of  Victory  out  of 
it,  and  which  W’as  thus  appropriately  devoted  to  the  Goddess  of  Retri- 
bution. The  statue  vrore  a crown,  and  had  wings,  and,  holding  a spear 
of  ash  in  the  right  hand,  it  was  seated  on  a stag. 

C 2 


58  ANDIUA;  [Act  V. 

Cri.  Many  other  persons  in  Andros  have  heard  the  same, 
Chremes. 

CiiREM.  (aside.)  I trust  it  may  turn  out  as  I hope.  (To 
Crito.)  Come  now,  tell  me,  what  did  he  then  say  about  her? 
Did  he  say  she  was  his  own  dauqJiter  ? 

Cri.  No. 

Chrem.  Whose  then? 

Cri.  His  brother’s  daughter. 

Chrem.  She  certainly  is  mine. 

Cri.  What  do  you  say? 

Sim.  What  is  this  that  you  say  ? 

Pam.  (aside.)  Prick  up  your  ears,  Pamphilus. 

Sim.  Why  do  you  suppose  so  ? 

Chrem.  That  Phania  was  my  brother. 

Sim.  I knew  him,  and  I am  aware  of  it. 

Chrem.  He,  flying  from  the  wars,  and  following  me  to 
Asia,  set  out  from  here.  At  the  same  time  he  was  afraid  to 
leave  her  here  behind  ; since  then,  this  is  the  first  time  I have 
heard  what  became  of  him. 

Pam.  (aside,)  I am  scarcely  myself,  so  much  has  my  mind 
been  agitated  by  fear,  hope,  joy,  and  surprise  at  this  so  great, 
so  unexpected  blessing. 

Sim.  Really,  I am  glad  for  many  reasons  that  she  has  been 
discovered  to  be  a citizen. 

Pam.  I believe  it,  father. 

CiiREM.  But  there  yet  remains  one  difficulty^  with  me, 
which  keeps  me  in  suspense. 

Pam.  (aside.)  You  deserve  to  be , with  your  scruples, 

you  plague.  You  are  seeking  a knot  in  a bulrush.^ 

Cri.  (to  Chremes.)  What  is  that  ? 

Chrem.  The  names  don’t  agree. 

Cri.  Troth,  she  had  another  when  little. 

Chrem.  What  was  it,  Crito?  Can  you  remember  it? 

^ One  difficulty) — Ver.  941.  ‘‘  Scrupus,”  or  “ scrupulus,”  was  proper- 
ly a stone  or  small  piece  of  gravel  which,  getting  into  the  shoe,  hurt 
the  foot;  hence  the  word  figuratively  came  to  mean  a ^‘scruple,”  ‘‘dif- 
ficulty,” or  “ doubt.”  We  have  a similar  expression:  “to  be  grav- 
eled.” 

^ A knot  in  a bulrush) — Ver.  942.  “Nodum  in  scirpo  quasrere”  was 
a proverbial  expression  implying  a desire  to  create  doubts  and  difiicul- 
ties  where  there  really  were  none;  there  being  no  knots  in  the  bulrush. 
The  same  expression  occurs  in  the  Mensechmi  of  Plautus,  1.  247. 


8c.  V.] 


THE  EAIR  ANDIilAN. 


59 


Cki.  I’m  trying  to  recollect  it. 

Pam.  (aside.)  Am  I to  suffer  his  memory  to  stand  in  the 
way  of  my  happiness,  when  I myself  can  provide  my  own  rem- 
edy in  this  matter  ? I will  not  suffer  it.  (Aloud.)  Hark  you, 
Cliremes,  that  which  you  are  trying  to  recollect  is  “Pasibula.” 

Chrem.  The  very  same. 

Cri.  That’s  it. 

Pam.  I’ve  heard  it  from  herself  a thousand  times. 

Sim.  I suppose,  Chremes,  that  you  believe  that  we  all  re- 
joice at  this  discovery. 

Chrem.  So  may  the  Gods  bless  me,  I do  believe  it. 

Pam.  What  remains  to  he  done^  father? 

Si3i.  The  event  itself  has  quite  brought  me  to  reconcile- 
ment. 

Pam.  O kind  father ! With  regard  to  her  as  a wife,  since 
I have  taken  possession  of  her,  Chremes  will  not  offer  any 
opposition. 

Chrem.  The  plea  is  a very  good  one,  unless  perchance  your 
father  says  any  thing  to  the  contrary. 

Pam.  Of  course,  I agree. 

Sim.  Then  be  it  so.^ 

Chrem.  Her  portion,  Pamphilus,  is  ten  talents. 

Pam.  I am  satisfied. 

Chrem.  I’ll  hasten  to  my  daughter.  Come  now,  (beckon- 
ing) along  with  me,  Crito ; for  I suppose  that  she  will  not 
knov/  me.  (They  go  into  Glycerium’s  house.) 

Sim.  (To  Pamphilus.)  Why  don’t  you  order  her  to  be  sent 
for  hither,  to  our  house  ? 

Pam.  Well  thought  of;  I’ll  at  once  give  charge  of  that  to 
Davus. 

Sim.  He  can’t  do  it. 

^ Of  course Then  he  it  so) — Ver.  951.  “ Nempe  id.  Scilicet.”  Col- 

man  has  the  following  remark  on  this  line : “ Donatus,  and  some  others 
after  him,  understand  these  words  of  Simo  and  Pamphilus  as  requiring 
a fortune  of  Chremes  with  his  daughter;  and  one  of  them  says  that 
Simo,  in  order  to  explain  his  meaning,  in  the  representation,  should 
produce  a bag  of  money.  This  surely  is  precious  refinement,  worthy 
the  genius  of  a true  Commentator.  Madame  Dacier,  who  entertains  a 
just  veneration  for  Donatus,  doubts  the  authenticity  of  the  observation 
ascribed  to  him.  The  sense  I have  followed  is,  I think,  the  most  ob- 
vious and  natural  interpretation  of  the  v/ords  of  Pamphilus  and  Simo, 
which  refers  to  the  preceding,  not  the  subsequent,  speech  of  Chremes.” 


GO 


ANDBIA; 


[Act  V. 


Pam.  How  so  ? 

Sim.  Because  he  has  another  matter  that  more  nearly  con- 
cerns himself,  and  of  more  importance. 

Pam.  What,  pray? 

Sim.  He  is  bound. 

Pam.  Father,  he  is  not  rightly  bound. ^ 

Sim.  But  I ordered  to  that  effect. 

Pam.  Prithee,  do  order  him  to  be  set  at  liberty. 

Sim.  Well,  be  it  so. 

Pam.  But  immediately. 

Sim.  I’m  going  in. 

Pam.  O fortunate  and  happy  day ! (Simo  goes  into^  his 
house.) 


Scene  VI. 

Enter  Charinus,  at  a distance. 

Char,  {apart  to  himself.)  I’m  come  to  see  what  Pamphiius 
is  about ; and  look,  here  he  is, 

Pam.  {to  himself.)  Some  one  perhaps  might  imagine  that 
I don’t  believe  this  to  be  true;  but  now  it  is  clear  to  me 
that  it  really  is  true.  I do  think  that  the  life  of  the  Gods 
is  everlasting,  for  this  reason,  because  their  joys  -are  their 
own.2  For  immortality  has  been  obtained  by  me,  if  no  sor- 
row interrupts  this  delight.  But  whom  in  particular  could 
I wish  to  be  now  thrown  in  my  way,  for  me  to  relate  these 
things  to? 

Char,  {apart  to  himself.)  What  means  this  rapture  ? 

^ He  is  not  rightly  hound) — Ver.  95G.  “ Non  recte  vinctus meaning 

it  was  not  well  done  to  bind  him.”  The  father  pretends  to  understand 
liim  as  meaning  (which  he  might  equally  well  by  using  the  same  words), 
‘•non  satis  stricte,”  “he  wasn’t  tightly  enough”  bound;  and  answers 
“I  ordered  that  he  should  be,”  referring  to  his  order  for  Davus  to  be 
bound  hand  and  foot.  Donatus  justly  observes  that  the  disposition  of 
the  old  gentleman  to  joke  is  a characteristic  mark  of  his  thorough  rec- 
onciliation. 

“ Their  joys  are  their  owri) — Ver.  961.  Westerhovius  remarks  that  he 
seems  here  to  be  promulgating  the  doctrine  of  Epicurus,  who  taught 
that  the  Deities  devoted  themselves  entirely  to  pleasure  and  did  not 
trouble  themselves  about  mortals.  Donatus  observes  that  these  are  the 
doctrines  of  Epicurus,  and  that  the  whole  sentence  is  copied  from  the 
Eunuch  of  Menander;  to  which  practice  of  borrowing  from  various 
Plays,  allusion  is  made  in  the  Prologue,  where  he  mentions  the  mixing 
of  plays;  “ contaminari  fabulas.” 


S(\  VIL] 


THE  EAlJi  ANDRIAN. 


G1 


Pam.  {to  himself.)  I see  Davus.  There  is  no  one  in  the 
world  whom  I would  choose  in  presence ; for  I am  sure  that 
he  of  all  people  will  sincerely  rejoice  in  my  happiness. 

Scene  VII. 

Enter  Davus. 

Day.  {to  himself.)  Where  is  Pamphilus,  I wonder  ? 

Pam.  Here  he  is,  Davus. 

Dav.  {turning  round.)  Who’s  that  ? 

IA\m.  ’Tis  I,  Pamphilus ; you  don’t  know  what  has  hap- 
pened to  me. 

Dav.  No  really ; but  I know  what  has  happened  to  myself. 

Pam.  And  I too. 

Daa'.  It  has  fallen  out  just  like  human  affairs  in  general, 
tliat  you  should  know  the  mishap  I have  met  with,  before  I 
the  good  that  has  befallen  you. 

Pam.  My  Glycerium  has  discovered  her  parents. 

Dav.  O,  well  done ! 

Char,  {apcuf  in  surprise.)  Hah ! 

Pam.  Her  father  is  an  intimate  friend  of  ours. 

Day.  Who? 

Pam.  Chremes. 

Dav.  You  do  tell  good  news. 

Pam.  And  there’s  no  hinderance  to  my  marrying  her  at 
once. 

Char,  {apart.)  Is  he  dreaming  the  same  that  he  has  been 
wishing  for  when  awake  ? 

Pam.  Then  about  the  child,  Davus. 

Dav.  O,  say  no  more  ; you  are  the  only  person  whom  the 
Gods  favor. 

Char,  {apart.)  I’m  all  right  if  these  things  arc  true.  I’ll 
nccost  them.  {Comes  forivard.) 

Pam.  Who  is  this?  Why^  Charinus,  you  meet  me  at  the 
very  nick  of  time. 

Char.  That’s  all  right. 

Pam.  Have  you  heard ? 

Char.  Every  thing ; come,  in  your  good  fortune  do  have 
some  regard  for  me.  Chremes  is  now  at  your  command ; I’m 
sure  that  he’ll  do  every  tiling  you  wish. 


G2 


ANDKIA;  THE  PAIR  ANDRIAN.  [ActV.,  Sc.  VII. 


Pam.  I’ll  remember  you ; and  because  it  is  tedious  for  us 
to  wait  for  him  until  becomes  out,  follow  me  this  way;  he 
is  now  in-doors  at  the  house  of  Gly cerium  ; do  you,  Davus, 
go  home ; send  with  all  haste  to  remove  her  thence.  Why 
are  you  standing  there?  Why  are  you  delaying? 

Dav.  I’m  going.  (PAMPinrxs  and  Charinus  go  into  the 
house  of  Glycerium.  Davus  then  comes  forward  and  address- 
es  the  Audience,)  Don’t  you  wait  until  they  come  out  from 
there  ; she  will  be  betrothed  within  : if  there  is  any  thing  else 
that  remains,  it  will  be  transacted  in-doors.  Grant  us  your 
applause.^ 

^ Grant  us  your  applause) — Ver.  982.  ‘‘Plaudite.”  Colman  has  the 
following  remark  at  the  conclusion  of  this  Play:  ‘‘All  the  old  Trage- 
dies and  Comedies  acted  at  Rome  concluded  in  this  manner.  ‘Donee 
cantor  vos  “ Plaudite”  dicat,’  says  Horace.  Who  the  ‘ cantor’  was,  is  a 
matter  of  dispute.  Madame  Dacier  thinks  it  was  the  whole  chorus; 
others  suppose  it  to  have  been  a single  actor;  some  the  prompter,  and 
some  the  composer.  Before  the  word  ‘Plaudite’  in  all  the  old  copies 
is  an  12,  which  has  also  given  rise  to  several  learned  conjectures.  It  is 
most  probable,  according  to  the  notion  of  Madame  Dacier,  that  this  12, 
being  the  last  letter  of  the  Greek  alphabet,  was  nothing  more  than  the 
mark  of  the  transcriber  to  signify  the  end,  like  the  Latin  word  ‘Finis’ 
in  modern  books ; or  it  might,  as  Patrick  supposes,  stand  for  12dof, 
‘cantor,’  denoting  that  the  following  W'ord  ‘Plaudite’  was  spoken  by 
him.  After  ‘Plaudite’  in  all  the  old  copies  of  Terence  stand  these  two 
words,  ‘Calliopius  recensui ;’  which  signify,  ‘ I,  Calliopius,  have  re- 
vised and  corrected  this  piece.’  And  this  proceeds  from  the  custom  of 
the  old  critics,  who  carefully  revised  all  Manuscripts,  and  when  they 
had  read  and  corrected  any  work,  certified  the  same  by  placing  their 
names  at  the  end  of  it.” 


EUNUCHUS;  THE  EUNUCH. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


his  sons. 


Laches,^  an  aged  Athenian. 

Ph^dria,^ 

ChasreAj^ 

Axtipho,^  a young  man,  friend  of  Chaerea. 

Chremes,^  a young  man,  brother  of  Pamphila. 
Thraso,®  a boastful  Captain. 

Gxatho,^  a Parasite. 

Parmexo,®  servant  of  Phaedria. 

Sanga,®  cook  to  Thraso. 

Doxax,^°  \ 

SiMALio,”  servants  of  Thraso. 

Syriscus,^") 

Dorus,^^  a Eunuch  slave. 

Thais, a Courtesan. 

Pythias,  , 

her  attendants. 

Dorias,^^  3 
SoPHRoxA,^®  a nurse. 

Pamphila,  a female  sl^^e. 

Scene. — Athens  ; before  the  houses  of  Laches  and  Thais. 


^ From  layxtLVU,  “to  obtain  by  lot”  or  “heirship.” 

^ From  facdpd^,  “cheerful.” 

^ 'From  “rejoicing.” 

^ From  dvTi,  “opposite  to,”  and  “light,”  or  “to  speak.” 
® From  xp^pK<^,  “to  neigh  ;”  delighting  in  horses. 

® From  “boldness.” 

’ From  “ the  jawbone ;”  a glutton. 

® From  Trapu,  “by,”  and  pevo,  “to  remain.” 

^ From  Sangia  in  Phrygia,  his  native  country. 

From  dovd^j  “a  reed.” 

“ From  “ flat-nosed.” 

From  Syria,  his  country;  or  from  cvplcKog,  “ a basket  of  figs.” 
From  ^eao/zaz,  “ to  look  at.” 

From  ‘Kvdophr],  “ asking  questions.” 

From  Doris,  their  country,  a part  of  Caria. 

From  Guippuv,  “prudent.” 

From  TTciv,  “all,”  and  6L7.bc,  “ 


a friend.” 


THE  SUBJECT. 


A CERTAIN  citizen  of  Athens  had  a daughter  named  Pamphila,  and  a 
son  called  Chremes.  The  former  was  stolen  while  an  infant,  and 
sold  to  a Rhodian  merchant,  who  having  made  a present  of  her  to  a 
Courtesan  of  Rhodes,  she  brought  her  up  with  her  own  daughter 
Thais,  who  was  somewhat  older.  In  the  course  of  years,  Thais  fol- 
lowing her  mother’s  Avay  of  life,  removes  to  Athens.  Her  mother 
dying,  her  property  is  put  up  for  sale,  and  Pamphila  is  purchased  as 
a slave  by  Thraso,  an  officer  and  an  admirer  of  Thais,  who  happens 
just  then  to  be  visiting  Rhodes.  During  the  absence  of  Thraso,  Thais 
i)ecomes  acquainted  with  Phjedria,  an  Athenian  youth,  the  son  of 
loaches ; she  also  discovers  from  Chremes,  who  lives  near  Athens, 
that  Pamphila,  her  former  companion,  is  his  sister.  Thraso  returns, 
intending  to  present  to  her  the  girl  he  has  bought,  but  determines 
not  to  do  so  until  she  has  discarded  Pha3dria.  Finding  that  the  girl 
is  no  other  than  Pamphila,  Thais  is  at  a loss  what  to  do,  as  she  both 
loves  Phasdria,  and  is  extremely  anxious  to  recover  Pamphila.  At 
length,  to  please  the  Captain,  she  excludes  Phaedria,  but  next  day 
sends  for  him,  and  explains  to  him  her  reasons,  at  the  same  time 
begging  of  him  to  allow  Thraso  the  sole  right  of  admission  to  her 
house  for  the  next  two  days,  and  assuring  him  that  as  soon  as  she 
shall  have  gained  possession  of  the  girl,  she  will  entirely  throw  him 
ojK  Phaedria  consents,  and  resolves  to  spend  these  two  days  in  the 
country ; at  the  same  time  he  orders  Parmeno  to  take  to  Thais  a 
Funuch  and  an  iEthiopian  girl,  whom  he  has  purchased  for  her.  The 
Captain  also  sends  Pamphila,  who  is  accidentally  seen  by  Chserea, 
the  younger  brother  of  Phsedria ; he,  being  smitten  with  her  beauty, 
prevails  upon  Parmeno  to  introduce  him  into  the  house  of  Thais,  in 
the  Eunuch’s  dress.  Being  admitted  there,  in  the  absence  of  Thais, 
he  ravishes  the  damsel.  Shortly  afterv/ard  Thraso  quarrels  with 
Thais,  and  comes  with  all  his  attendants  to  her  house  to  demand  the 
return  of  Pamphila,  but  is  disappointed.  In  conclusion,  Pamphila 
is  recognized  by  her  brother  Chremes,  and  is  promised  in  marriage 
to  ChsBrea;  while  Thraso  becomes  reconciled  to  Phtedria,  through 
the  mediation  of  Gnatho,  his  Parasite. 


THE  TITLED  OF  THE  PLAY. 


Performed  at  the  Megalensian  Gaines ; L.  Posthumius  Ah 
bin  us  and  L.  Cornelius  Merula  being  Curule  ^diles.  L. 
Ambivius  Turpio  and  L.  Atilius  Preenestinus  performed  it. 
Flaccus,  the  freedman  of  Claudius,  composed  the  music  to 
two  treble  flutes.  From  the  Greek  of  Menander.  It  was 
acted  twice, 2 M.  Valerius  and  C.  Fannius  being  Consuls.^ 

‘ The  Title) — Colman  lias  the  follo'wing  remark  on  this  Play “ This 
seems  to  have  been  the  most  popular  of  all  the  Comedies  of  Terence. 
Suetonius  and  Donatus  both  inform  us  that  it  was  acted  with  the  great- 
est apjilause,  and  that  the  Poet  received  a larger  price  for  it  from  the 
Akliles  than  had  ever  been  paid  for  any  before,  namely,  8000  sesterces, 
which  is  about  equal  to  200  crowns,  which  in  those  times  was  a consid- 
erable sum.” 

^ Acted  twice) — This  probably  means  “twice  in  one  day.”  As  it  is 
generally  supposed  that  something  is  wanting  after  the  figures  II,  this 
is  presumed  to  be  “ die,”  “in  one  day,”  in  confirmation  of  which  Sue- 
tonius informs  us  that  it  really  was  performed  twice  in  one  day.  Do- 
natus says  it  was  performed  three  times,  by  which  he  may  probably 
mean,  twice  on  one  day  and  once  on  another. 

^ Being  Consuls) — M.  Valerius  Messala  and  C.  Fannius  Strabo  were 
Consuls  in  the  year  from  the  building  of  the  City  591,  or  b.c.  162. 


EUNUCHUS; 


tSe  eunuch. 


THE  SUMMARY  OF  C.  SULPITIUS  APOLLINARIS. 

The  Captain,  Thraso,  being  ignorant  of  the  same,  has  brought 
abroad  a girl  who  used  wrongly  to  be  called  the  sister  of  Thais,  and 
presents  her  to  Thais  herself:  she  in  reality  is  a citizen  of  Attica. 
To  the  same  woman,  Phajdria,  an  admirer  of  Thais,  orders  a Eunuch 
whom  he  has  purchased,  to  be  taken,  and  he  himself  goes  away  into 
the  country,  having  been  entreated  to  give  up  two  days  to  Thraso. 
A youth,  the  brother  of  Phsedria,  having  fallen  in  love  with  the  dam- 
sel sent  to  the  house  of  Thais,  is  dressed  up  in  the  clothes  of  the  Eu- 
nuch. Parmeno  prompts  him ; he  goes  in  ; he  ravishes  the  maiden ; 
but  at  length  her  brother  being  discovered,  a citizen  of  Attica,  be- 
troths  her  who  has  been  ravished,  to  the  youth,  and  Thraso  prevails 
upon  Pliicdria  by  his  entreaties. 


THE  PROLOGUE. 

If  there  is  any  one  who  desires  to  please  as  many  good 
men  as  possible,  and  to  give  offense  to  extremely  few,  among 
those  does  our  Poet  enroll  his  name.  Next,  if  there  is  one 
who  thinks^  that  language  too  harsh  is  here  applied  to  him, 
let  him  bear  this  in  mind — that  it  is  an  answer,  not  an  attack ; 
inasmuch  as  he  has  himself  been  the  first  aggressor ; who,  by 
translating  verbally, 2 and  writing  them  in  bad  Latin,  has 

made  out  of  good  Greek  Plays  Latin  ones  by  no  means  good. 

^ If  there  is  one  who  thinks) — Yer.  4.  He  alludes  to  his  old  enemy, 
Luscus  Lavinius,  the  Comic  Poet,  who  is  alluded  to  in  the  Prologue 
to  the  Andria,  and  has  since  continued  his  attacks  upon  him. 

^ By  translating  literally) — Yer.  7.  ‘‘Bene  vertendo,  at  eosdem  scri- 
bendo  male.”  This  passage  has  greatly  puzzled  some  of  the  Comment- 
ators. Bentley  has,  however,  it  appears,  come  to  the  most  reasonable 
conclusion;  who  supposes  that  Terence  means  by  “bene  vertere,”  a 
literal  translation,  word  for  word,  from  the  Greek,  by  which  a servile 
adherence  to  the  idiom  of  that  language  was  preserved  to  the  neglect 
of  the  Latin  idiom ; in  consequence  of  which  the  Plays  of  Luscus  La- 
vinius  were,  as  he  remarks,  “male  scriptse,”  written  in  bad  Latin. 


EUNUCHUS ; THE  EUNUCH. 


67 


Just  as  of  late  he  has  published  the  Phasma^  [the  Appari- 
tion] of  Menander;  and  in  the  Thesaurus  [the  Treasure] 
has  described^  him  from  whom  the  gold  is  demanded,  as 

^ Has  puhlislied  the  Phasma) — Ver.  9.  The  or  ‘Appari- 

tion,’* was  a play  of  Menander,  so  called,  in  which  a young  man  look- 
ing through  a hole  in  the  wall  between  his  father’s  house  and  that  next 
door,  sees  a young  woman  of  marvelous  beauty,  and  is  struck  with  awe 
at  the  sight,  as  though  by  an  apparition ; in  the  Play,  the  girl’s  mother 
is  represented  as  having  made  this  hole  in  the  wall,  and  having  deck- 
ed it  with  garlands  and  branches  that  it  may  resemble  a consecrated 
place ; where  she  daily  performs  her  devotions  in  company  with  her 
daughter,  who  has  been  privately  brought  up,  and  whose  existence  is 
unknown  to  the  neighbors.  On  the  youth  coming  by  degrees  to  the 
knowledge  that  the  object  of  his  admiration  is  but  a mortal,  his  passion 
becomes  so  violent  that  it  will  admit  of  no  cure  but  marriage,  with  the 
celebration  of  which  the  Play  concludes.  Bentley  gives  us  the  above 
information  from  an  ancient  Scholiast,  whose  name  is  unknown,  un- 
less it  is  Donatus  himself,  which  is  doubtful.  It  would  appear  that 
Luscus  Lavinius  had  lately  made  a translation  of  this  Play,  which,  from 
its  servile  adherence  to  the  language  of  the  original,  had  been  couch- 
ed in  ungrammatical  language,  and  probably  not  approved  of  by  the 
Audience.  Donatus  thinks  that  this  is  the  meaning  of  the  passage, 
and  that,  content  with  this  slight  reference  to  a well-known  fact,  the 
author  passes  it  by  in  contemptuous  silence. 

And  in  the  Thesaurus  has  described) — Yer.  10.  Cook  has  the  fol- 
lowing appropriate  remark  upon  this  passage:  “In  the  ‘Thesaurus,’ 
or  ‘Treasure’  of  Luscus  Lavinius,  a young  fellow,  having  wasted  his 
estate  by  his  extravagance,  sends  a servant  to  search  his  father’s  monu- 
ment : but  he  had  before  sold  the  ground  on  which  the  monument  was, 
to  a covetous  old  man ; to  whom  the  servant  applies  to  help  him  open 
tlie  monument ; in  which  they  discover  a hoard  and  a letter.  The  old 
fellow  sees  the  treasure  and  keeps  it ; the  young  one  goes  to  law  with 
him,  and  the  old  man  is  represented  as  opening  his  cause  first  before 
the  judge,  which  he  begins  with  these  words : — 

‘ Athenienses,  bellum  cum  Ehodiensibus, 

Quod  fuerit,  quid  ego  priedicem?’ 

‘ Athenians,  why  should  I relate  the  war  with  the  Rhodians  ?’  And 
he  goes  on  in  a manner  contrary  to  the  rules  of  court;  which  Terence 
objects  to,  because  the  young  man,  who  was  the  plaintiff,  should  open 
his  cause  first.  Thus  far  Bentley,  from  the  same  Scholiast  [as  referred 
to  in  the  last  Note].  This  Note  is  a clear  explanation  of  the  four  verses 
to  which  it  belongs.  Hare  concurs  with  Madame  Dacier  in  her  opinion 
‘ de  Thesauro,’  that  it  is  only  a part  of  the  Phasma  of  Menander,  and 
not  a distinct  Play ; but  were  I not  determined  by  the  more  learned 
Bentley,  the  text  itself  would  not  permit  me  to  be  of  their  opinion ; 
for  the  words  ‘ atque  in  Thesauro  scripsit’  seem  plainly  to  me  to  be  a 
transition  to  another  Play.  The  subject  of  the  Thesaurus  is  related  by 


G8 


EUNUCHUS; 


pleading  his  cause  why  it  should  be  deemed  his  own,  before 
the  person  who  demands  it  has  stated  how  this  treasure 
belongs  to  him,  or  how  it  came  into  the  tomb  of  his  father. 
Henceforward,  let  him  not  deceive  himself,  or  fancy  thus, 
have  now  done  with  it;  there’s  nothing  that  he  can  say 
to  me.”  I recommend  him  not  to  be  mistaken,  and  to  re- 
frain from  provoking  me.  I have  many  other  points,  as  to 
wliich  for  the  present  he  shall  be  pardoned,  which,  however^ 
shall  be  brought  forward  hereafter,  if  he  persists  in  attacking 
me,  as  he  has  begun  to  do.  After  the  HCdiles  had  purchased 
the  Eunuch  of  Menander,  the  Play  which  we  are  about 
to  perform,  he  managed  to  get  an  opportunity  of  viewing 
it.i  When  the  magistrates  were  present  it  began  to  be  per- 
formed. He  exclaimed  that  a thief,  no  Poet,  had  produced 
the  piece,  but  still  had  not  deceived^  him;  that,  in  fact,  it 
was  the  Colax,  an  old  Play  of  Plautus  and  that  from  it 
were  taken  the  characters  of  the  Parasite  and  the  Captain. 

Eugraphius,  though  not  with  all  the  circumstances  mentioned  in  my 
Note  from  Bentley.”  Colman  also  remarks  here  : ‘‘  Menander  and  his 
contemporary  Philemon,  each  of  them  wrote  a Comedy  under  this  title. 
We  have  in  the  above  Note  the  story  of  Menander’s  ; and  we  know 
that  .of  Philemon’s  from  the  ‘ Trinummus’  of  Plautus,  which  was  a 
Translation  of  it.” 

^ Opportunity  of  viewing  it) — Yer.  21.  Colman  thinks  that  this  means 
something  “stronger  than  merely  being  present  at  the  representation,” 
and  he  takes  the  meaning  to  be,  that  having  obtained  leave  to  peruse 
the  MS.,  he  furnished  himself  with  objections  against  the  piece,  which 
he  threw  out  when  it  came  to  be  represented  before  the  magistrates. 
Cooke  thinks  that  the  passage  only  means,  “ that  he  bustled  and  took 
])ains  to  be  near  enough  at  the  representation  to  see  and  hear  plainly.” 
Tlie  truth  seems  to  be  that  Lavinius  managed  to  obtain  admission  at 
the  rehearsal  or  trial  of  the  merits  of  the  piece  before  the  magistrates, 
and  that  he  then  behaved  himself  in  the  unseemly  manner  mentioned 
in  the  text. 

^ Produced  the  piece^  hut  still  had  not  deceived  him) — Yer.  24.  There 
is  a pun  here  upon  the  resemblance  in  meaning  of  the  words  “verba 
dare”  and  “fabulam  dare.”  The  first  expression  means  to  “ deceive” 
or  “impose  upon;”  the  latter  phrase  has  also  the  same  meaning,  but 
it  may  signify  as  well  “to  represent”  or  “produce  a Play.”  Thus  the 
exclamation  in  its  ambiguity  may  mean,  “he  has  produced  a Play, 
and  has  not  succeeded  in  deceiving  us,”  or  “ he  has  deceived  us,  and 
yet  has  not  deceived  us.”  This  is  the  interpretation  which  Donatus 
puts  upon  the  passage. 

^ Colax,  an  old  Play  of  Plautus) — Yer.  25.  Although  Nonius  Mar- 


THE  EUNUCH. 


69 


If  this  is  a fault,  the  fault  is  the  ignorance  of  the  )?oet; 
not  that  he  intended  to  be  guilty  of  theft.  That  so  it  is, 
you  will  now  be  enabled  to  judge.  The  Colax  is  a Play  of 
Menander’s ; in  it  there  is  Colax,  a Parasite,  and  a braggart 
Captain : he  does  not  deny  that  he  has  transferred  these 
characters  into  his  Eunuch  from  the  Greek  ; but  assuredly 
he  does  deny  this,  that  he  Avas  aware  that  those  pieces  had 
been  already  translated  into  Latin.  But  if  it  is  not  per- 
mitted us  to  use  the  same  characters  as  others,  how  can  it 
any  more  be  allowed  to  represent  hurrying  servants,^  to 
describe  Aurtuous  matrons,  artful  courtesans,  the  gluttonous 


ccllus  professes  to  quote  from  the  Colax  of  Plautus  (so  called  from  the 
Greek  KoAu^,  “a  flatterer”  or  ‘‘parasite”),  some  scholars  have  disbe- 
lieved in  the  existence  of  any  Play  of  Plautus  known  by  that  name. 
Cooke  says : “If  Plautus  had  wrote  a Play  under  the  title  of  ‘ Colax,’ 
I should  think  it  very  unlikely  that  it  should  have  escaped  Terence’s 
eye,  considering  how  soon  he  flourished  after  Plautus,  his  being  en- 
gaged in  the  same  studies,  and  his  having  such  opportunities  to  consult 
the  libraries  of  the  great ; for  though  all  learning  was  then  confined  to 
Manuscripts,  Terence  could  have  no  difficulty  in  coming  at  the  best 
copies.  The  character  of  the  ‘Miles  Gloriosus’  [Braggart  Captain] 
here  mentioned,  I am  inclined  to  think  the  same  with  that  which  is  the 
hero  of  Plautus’s  Comedy,  now  extant,  and  called  ‘Miles  Gloriosus,’ 
from  which  Terence  could  not  take  his  Thraso.  Pyrgopolinices  and 
Thraso  are  both  full  of  themselves,  both  boast  of  their  valor  and  their 
intimacy  with  princes,  and  both  fancy  themseUes  beloved  by  all  the 
women  who  see  them  ; and  they  are  both  played  off  by  their  Parasites, 
but  they  differ  in  their  manner  and  their  speech : Plautus’s  Pyrgopoli- 
nices is  always  in  the  clouds,  and  talking  big,  and  of  blood  and  wounds 
— Terence’s  Thraso  never  says  too  little  nor  much,  but  is  an  easy  ridic- 
ulous character,  continually  supplying  the  Audience  with  mirth  without 
the  wild  extravagant  bluster  of  Pyrgopolinices ; Plautus  and  Terence 
both  took  their  soldiers  and  Parasites  from  Menander,  but  gave  them 
different  dresses.”  Upon  this  Note  Colman  remarks:  “Though  there 
is  much  good  criticism  in  the  above  Note,  it  is  certain  that  Plautus  did 
not  take  his  ‘ Miles  Gloriosus’  from  the  Colax  of  Menander,  as  he  him- 
self informs  us  it  was  translated  from  a Greek  play  called  ‘ the 

Boaster,’  and  the  Parasite  is  but  a trifling  character  in  that  play,  never 
appearing  after  the  first  Scene.” 

^ Purrying  servants) — Yer.  35.  On  the  “currentes  servi,”  see  the 
Prologue  to  the  Heautontimoruinenos,  1.  31.  Ovid,  in  the  Amores,  B. 
i.,  El.  15,  1.  17,  18,  mentions  a very  similar  combination  of  the  charac- 
ters of  Menander’s  Comedy : “So  long  as  the  deceitful  slave,  the  harsh 
father,  the  roguish  procuress,  and  the  cozening  courtesan  shall  endure, 
Menander  will  exist.” 


7G 


EUNUCHUS ; 


[Act  I 


[)arasite,  the  braggart  captain,  the  infant  palmed  off,  the  old 
man  cajoled  by  the  servant,  about  love,  hatred,  suspicion? 
In  fine,  nothing  is  said  now  that  has  not  been  said  before. 
Wherefore  it  is  but  just  that  you  should  know  this,  and  make 
allowance,  if  the  moderns  do  what  the  ancients  used  to  do. 
Grant  me  your  attention,  and  give  heed  in  silence,  that  you 
may  understand  what  the  Eunuch  means. 


ACT  TPIE  FIRST. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Ph^dria  and  Parmeno. 

Pii^D.  What,  then,  shall  I do?^  Ought  I not  to  go,  not 
now  even,  v/hen  I am  sent  for  of  her  own  accord?  Or  ought 
I rather  so  to  behave  myself  as  not  to  put  up  with  affronts 
from  Courtesans  ? She  shut  her  door  against  me ; she  now 
invites  me  back.  Ought  I to  return?  No;  though  she 
should  implore  me. 

Par.  Tfaith,  if  indeed  you  only  can,  there’s  nothing  better 
or  more  spirited ; but  if  you  begin,  and  can  not  hold  out 
stoutly,  and  if,  when  you  can  not  endure  it,  while  no  one 
asks  you,  peace  being  not  made,  you  come  to  her  of  your 
own  accord,  showing  that  you  love  her,  and  can  not  endure 
it,  you  are  done  for;  it’s  all  over  ivithyou;  you  are  ruined 
outright.  She’ll  be  jilting  you,  when  she  finds  you  over- 
come. Do  you  then,  while  there’s  time,  again  and  again 
reflect  upon  this,  master,  that  a matter,  which  in  itself 
admits  of  neither  prudence  nor  moderation,  you  are  un- 
able to  manage  with  prudence.  In  love  there  are  all  these 
evils ; wrongs,  suspicions,  enmities,  reconcilements,  war,  then 
peace ; if  you  expect  to  render  these  things,  naturally  un- 
certain, certain  by  dint  of  reason,  you  wouldn’t  effect  it  a 
bit  the  more  than  if  you  were  to  use  your  endeavors  to  be 

^ What^  then^  shall  I do?) — Yer.  46.  Phiedria,  on  being  sent  for  by 
Thais,  breaks  out  into  these  words  as  be  enters,  after  having  delibera- 
ted upon  his  parting  with  her.  Both  Horace  and  Persius  have  imita- 
ted this  passage  in  their  Satires. 


/ 

Sc.  II.]  THE  EENUCH.  71 

mad  with  reason.  And,  what  you  are  now,  in  anger,  medi- 
tating to  yourself,  “What!  I to  her'?^  Yfho — him  I Who 
— me!  Who  wouldn’t?  Only  let  me  alone;  I had  rather 
die;  she  shall  find  out  what  sort  of  a person  I am;”  these 
expressions,  upon  my  faith,  by  a single  false  tiny  tear,  which, 
by  rubbing  her  eyes,  poor  thing,  she  can  hardly  squeeze  out 
perforce,  she  will  put  an  end  to ; and  she’ll  be  the  first  to  ac- 
cuse you;  and  you  will  be  too  ready  to  give  satisfaction  to 
her. 

Ph^d.  O disgraceful  conduct ! I now  perceive,  both  that 
she  is  perfidious,  and  that  I am  a wretched  man.  I am  both 
weary  of  her,  and  burn  with  passion  ; knowing  and  fully  sensi- 
ble, alive  and  seeing  it,  I am  going  to  ruin ; nor  do  I know 
what  I am  to  do. 

Par.  What  you  are  to  do?  Why,  only  to  redeem  your- 
self, thus  captivated,  at  the  smallest  price  you  can;  if  you 
can  not  at  a very  small  rate,  still  for  as  little  as  you  can ; 
i'tnd  do  not  afflict  yourself. 

PnaLD.  Do  you  persuade  me  to  this  ? 

Par.  If  you  are  wise.  And  don’t  be  adding  to  the  troub- 
les which  love  itself  produces;  those  which  it  does  produce, 
bear  patiently.  But  see,  here  she  is  coming  herself,  the  down- 
fall of  our  fortunes,^ — for  that  which  we  ought  ourselves  to 
enjoy  she  intercepts. 


Scene  II. 

Enter  Thais  from  her  house. 

Thais  {to  herself^  not  seeing  them.)  Ah  wretched  me ! I 
fear  lest  Phsedria  should  take  it  amiss  or  otherwise  than  I in- 
tended it,  that  he  was  not  admitted  yesterday. 

1 What!  I to  her?) — Yer.  65.  Donatns  remarks  that  this  is  an  ab- 
rupt manner  of  speaking  familiarly  to  persons  in  anger;  and  that  the 
sentences  are  thus  to  be  understood,  “ I,  go  to  her?  Her,  who  has  re- 
ceived him  ! Who  has  excluded  me !” — inasmuch  as  indignation  loves 
to  deal  in  Ellipsis  and  Aposiopesis. 

^ The  downfall  of  our  fortunes) — Yer.  79.  Colman  observes,  ‘‘  There 
is  an  extreme  elegance  in  this  passage  in  the  original ; and  the  figura- 
tive expression  is  beautifully  employed.”  “ Calamitas”  was  originally 
a word  used  in  husbandry,  which  signified  the  destruction  of  growing 
corn  ; because,  as  Donatus  says,  “ Comminuit  calamum  et  segetem;” — . 
“ it  strikes  down  the  blades  and  standing  corn.” 


72 


EUNUCHUS ; 


[Act  I. 


Pfi^D.  {aside  to  Parmeno.)  I’m  trembling  and  shivering 
all  over,  Parmeno,  at  the  sight  of  her. 

Par.  (apart,)  Be  of  good  heart;  only  approach  this  fire,^ 
you’ll  soon  be  warmer  than  you  need. 

Thais  (turning  round,)  Who  is  it  that’s  speaking  here? 
What,  are  you  here,  my  Phsedria?  Why  are  you  standing 
here?  Why  didn’t  you  come  into  the  house  at  once? 

Par.  (whispering  to  Phsedria.)  But  not  a word  about  shut- 
ting you  out ! 

Thais.  Why  are  you  silent? 

PiiiED.  Of  course,  it’s  because^  this  door  is  always  open  to 
me,  or  because  I’m  the  highest  in  your  favor  ? 

Thais.  Pass  those  matters  by. 

PiHED.  How  pass  them  by?  O Thais,  Thais,  I wish  that 
I had  equal  affection  with  yourself,  and  that  it  were  in  like 
degree,  that  either  this,  might  distress  you  in  the  same  way 
that  it  distresses  me,  or  that  I might  be  indifferent  at  this  be- 
ing done  by  you. 

Thais.  Prithee,  don’t  torment  yourself,  my  life,  my  Plue- 
dria.  Upon  my  faith,  I did  it,  not  because  I love  or  esteem 
any  person  more  than  you  ; but  the  case  was  such  that  it  was 
necessary  to  be  done. 

Par.  (ironically,)  I suppose  that,  poor  thing,  you  shut  him 
out  of  doors,  for  love,  according  to  the  usual  practice. 

Thais.  Is  it  thus  you  act,  Parmeno?  Well,  'well.  (To 
PnyEDRiA.)  But  listen — the  reason  for  which  I desired  you 
to  be  sent  for  hither 

PiiiED.  Go  on. 

Thais.  First  tell  me  this ; can  this  fellow  possibly  hold  his 
tongue?  (pointing  to  Parmeno.) 

Par.  What,  I?  Perfectly  well.  But,  hark  you,  upon 

^ Approach  this  fire) — Ver.  85.  “ Ignem”  is  generally  supposed  to  be 
used  figuratively  here,  and  to  mean  “the  flame  of  love.”  Eugraphius, 
however,  would  understand  the  expression  literally,  observing  that 
courtesans  usually  had  near  their  doors  an  altar  sacred  to  Venus,  on 
which  they  daily  sacrificed. 

^ Of  course  it's  because) — Yer.  89.  It  must  be  observed  that  these 
words,  conmencing  with  “ Sane,  quia  vero,”  in  the  original,  are  said 
by  Phsedria  not  in  answer  to  the  words  of  Thais  immediately  preceding, 
but  to  her  previous  question,  “ Cur  non  recta  introibas  ?”  “ Why  didn’t 
you  come  into  the  house  at  once?”  and  that  they  are  spoken  in  bitter 
irony. 


?!)C.  Il.J 


THE  EUNUCH. 


73 


these  conditions  I pledge  my  word  to  you ; the  truth  that  I 
hear,  I’m  silent  upon,  and  retain  it  most  faithfully ; but  if  I 
liear  what’s  false  and  without  foundation,  it’s  out  at  once  ; 
I’m  full  of  chinks,  and  leak  in  every  direction.  Therefore,  if 
you  wish  it  to  be  kept  secret,  speak  the  truth. 

Thais.  My  mother  was  a Samian  ; she  lived  at  Hhodes 

Pau.  That  may  be  kept  a secret. 

Thais.  There,  at  that  period,  a certain  merchant  made 
present  to  my  mother  of  a little  girl,  who  had  been  stolen 
away  from  Attica  here. 

Par.  What,  a citizen? 

Thais.  I think  so ; we  do  not  know  for  certain : she  her- 
self used  to  mention  her  mother’s  and  her  father’s  name ; her 
country  and  other  tokens  she  didn’t  know,  nor,  by  reason  of 
her  age,  was  she  able.  The  merchant  added  this : that  he 
had  heard  from  the  kidnappers  that  she  had  been  carried  off 
from  Sunium.^  When  my  mother  received  her,  she  began 
carefully  to  teach  her  every  thing,  and  to  bring  her  up,  just 
as  though  she  had  been  her  own  daughter.  Most  persons 
supposed  that  she  was  my  sister.  Thence  I came  hither  with 
that  stranger,  with  whom  alone  at  that  period  I was  connect- 
ed ; he  left  me  all  which  I noiv  possess 

Par.  Both  these  things  are  false ; out  it  goes. 

Thais.  Plow  so  ? 

Par.  Because  you  were  neither  content  with  one,  nor  was 
lie  the  only  one  to  make  you  presents ; for  he  likewise 
{pointing  to  Ph^dria)  brought  a pretty  considerable  share  to 
you. 

Thais.  Such  is  the  fact ; but  do  allow  me  to  arrive  at  the 
point  I wish.  In  the  mean  time,  the  Captain,  who  had  be- 
gun to  take  a fancy  to  me,  set  out  to  Caria;^  since  when,  in 
the  interval,  I became  acquainted  with  you.  You  yourseh‘ 
are  aware  how  very  dear  I have  held  you  ; and  how  I confess 
to  you  all  my  nearest  counsels. 

PriALD.  Nor  will  Parmeno  be  silent  about  that. 

^ From  Sunium) — Ver.  115.  This  was  a town  situate  near  a lofty 
Promontory  of  that  name  in  Attica.  It  was  famous  for  a fair  which 
was  held  there.  ‘‘  Sunium’s  rocky  brow”  is  mentioned  by  Byron  in  the 
song  of  the  Greek  Captive  in  the  third  Canto  of  Bon  Juan. 

^ Set  out  for  Caria) — Ver.  126.  This  was  a country  of  Asia  Minor 
upon  the  sea-coast,  opposite  to  the  island  of  Rhodes. 

D 


74 


EUNUCHUS; 


[Act  I. 


Par.  O,  is  that  a matter  of  doubt  ? 

Thais.  Attend  ; I entreat  you.  My  mother  died  there  re- 
(;ently  ; her  brother  is  somewhat  greedy  after  wealth.  When 
he  saw  that  this  damsel  was  of  beauteous  form  and  understood 
music,  hoping  for  a good  price,  he  forthwith  put  her  up  for 
sale,  and  sold  her.  By  good  fortune  this  friend  of  mine  was 
present ; he  bought  her  as  a gift  to  me,  not  knowing  or  sus- 
pecting any  thing  of  all  this.  Pie  returned ; but  when  he 
[)erceived  that  I had  formed  a connection  with  you  as  well, 
he  feigned  excuses  on  purpose  that  he  might  not  give  her ; he 
said  that  if  he  could  feel  confidence  that  he  should  be  pre- 
ferred to  yourself  by  me,  so  as  not  to  apprehend  that,  when 
I had  received  her,  I should  forsake  him,  then  he  was  ready  to 
give  her  to  me ; but  that  he  did  fear  this.  But,  so  far  as  I 
can  conjecture,  he  has  set  his  affections  upon  the  girl. 

Ph^d.  Any  thing  beyond  that  ? 

Thais.  Nothing;  for  I have  made  inquiry.  Now,  my 
Phaedria,  there  are  many  reasons  why  I could  wish  to  get 
her  away  from  him.  In  the  first  place,  because  she  w'as  call- 
ed my  sister ; moreover,  that  I may  restore  and  deliver  her 

to  her  friends.  I am  a lone  woman ; I have  no  one  here, 

neither  acquaintance  nor  relative ; wherefore,  Phaedria,  I am 
desirous  by  my  good  offices  to  secure  friends.  Prithee,  do  aid 
me  in  this,  in  order  that  it  may  be  the  more  easily  effected. 
Do  allow  him  for  the  few  next  days  to  have  the  preference 
with  me.  Do  you  make  no  answer  ? 

Ph^d.  Most  vile  woman ! Can  I make  you  any  answer 
after  such  behavior  as  this  ? 

Par.  Well  done,  my  master^  I commend  you  ; {aside)  he’s 
galled  at  last.  {To  Ph^dria.)  You  show  yourself  a man. 

Ph^d.  I was  not  aware  what  you  were  aiming  at ; 

she  was  carried  away  from  here,  when  a little  child  ; my 

mother  brought  her  up  as  though  her  own ; she  v/as  called, 
my  sister;  I wish  to  get  her  away,  that  I may  restore  her 
to  her  friends.”  The  meaning  is,  that  all  these  expressions, 
in  fine,  now  amount  to  this,  that  I am  shut  out,  he  is 
admitted.  P^or  what  reason?  Except  that  you  love  him 
more  than  me : and  now  you  are  afraid  of  her  who  has  been 
brought  hither^  lest  she  should  win  him,  such  as  he  is,  from 
yourself. 

Thais.  I,  afraid  of  that? 


Sc.  IL] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


75 

Pii^D.  What  else,  then,  gives  you  concern  ? Let  me  know. 
Is  he  the  only  person  who  makes  presents  ? Have  you  found 
my  bounty  shut  against  you Did  I not,  when  you  told  me 
that  you  wished  for  a servant-maid  from  HLthiopia,^  setting 
all  other  matters  aside,  go  and  seek  for  one'?  Then  you  said 
that  you  wanted  a Eunuch,  because  ladies  of  quality^  alone 
make  use  of  them  ; I found  *you  one.  I yesterday  paid  twen- 
ty mina?^  for  them  both.  Though  slighted  by  you,  I still  kept 
these  things  in  mind ; as  a reward  for  so  doing,  I am  despised 
by  you. 

Thais.  Ph^dria,  what  does  this  mean  % Although  I wish 
to  get  her  away,  and  think  that  by  these  means  it  could  most 
probably  be  effected  ; still,  rather  than  make  an  enemy  of  you, 
ITl  do  as  you  request  me. 

PHiED.  I onli)  wish  that  you  used  that  expression  from 
your  heart  and  truthfully,  “rather  than  make  an  enemy  of 
you.”  If  I could  believe  that  this  was  said  sincerely,  I could 
put  up  with  any  thing. 

Par.  (aside.)  He  staggers  ; how  instantaneously  is  he  van- 
quished by  a sjngle  expression  ! 

Thais.  I,  wretched  woman,  not  speak  from  my  heart '? 
What,  pray,  did  you  ever  ask  of  me  in  jest,  but  that  you  car- 
ried your  point?  I am  unable  to  obtain  even  this  of  you,  that 
you  would  grant  me  only  two  days. 

Ph^d.  If,  indeed,  it  is  hut  two  days ; but  don’t  let  these 
days  become  twenty. 

Thais.  Assuredly  not  more  than  two  days,  or 

PtiiED.  “Or?”  I won’t  have  it. 

Thais.  It  shall  not  be ; only  do  allow  me  to  obtain  this  of 
you. 

PHiED.  Of  course  that  which  you  desire  must  be  done. 

Thais.  I love  you  as  you  deserve  ; you  act  obligingly. 

PiiiED.  (to  Parmeno.)  I shall  go  into  the  country;  there  I 
shall  worry  myself  for  the  next  two  days : I’m  resolved  to  do 

^ Servant-maid  from  JEthiopia) — Yer.  165.  No  doubt  H^thiopian  or 
negro  slaves  were  much  prized  by  the  great,  and  those  courtesans 
whose  object  it  was  to  ape  their  manners. 

^ Ladies  of  quality) — Yer.  168.  “Eeginse,”  literally  ‘‘queens,”  here 
means  women  of  rank  and  distinction. 

" Paid  twenty  mince) — Yer.  169.  The  “ mina”  contained  one  liundred 
“ drachmse”  of  about  each. 


EUNUCHUS ; 


76 


[Act  I.,  Sc.  III. 


so;  Thais  must  be  humored.  Do  you,  Parmeno,  take  care 
that  they  are  brought  hither. 

Pak.  Certainly. 

Ph^d.  For  the  next  two  days  tlien^  Thais,  adieu. 

Thais.  And  the  same  to  you,  my  Phaedria ; do  you  desire 
aught  else'? 

Ph^d.  What  should  I desird?  That,  present  with  the 
Captain,  you  may  be  as  if  absent ; that  night  and  day  you 
may  love  me ; may  feel  my  absence ; may  dream  of  me  ; may 
be  impatient  for  me ; may  think  about  me ; may  hope  for 
me  ; may  centre  your  delight  in  me ; may  be  ail  in  all  with 
me ; in  fine,  if  you  will,  be  my  very  life,  as  I am  yours. 

{Exeunt  Ph^dria  and  Parmeno. 


Scene  III. 

Thais  alone. 

Thais,  {to  herself.)  Ah  wretched  me!^  perhaps  now  he 
puts  but  little  faith  in  me,  and  forms  his  estimate  of  me 
from  the  dispositions  of  other  women.^  By  my  troth,  I, 
who  know  my  own  self,  am  very  sure  of  this,  that  I have 
not  feigned  any  thing  that’s  false,  and  that  no  person  is 
dearer  to  my  heart  than  this  same  Phasdria ; and  whatever 

^ ^ Ah  wretched  me!) — Ver.  197.  Donatus  remarks  that  the  Poet  judi- 
ciously reserves  that  part  of  the  plot  to  be  told  here,  ^yhich  Thais  did 
not  relate  to  Phsedria  in  the  presence  of  Parmeno ; whom  the  Poet 
keeps  in  ignorance  as  to  the  rank  of  the  damsel,  that  he  may  with  the 
more  probability  dare  to  assist  Chserea  in  his  attempt  on  her. 

* F7'om  the  dispositions  of  other  women) — ^Ver.  198.  Donatus  ob- 
serves that  this  is  one  of  the  peculiar  points  of  excellence  shown  by 
Terence,  introducing  common  characters  in  a new  manner,  without 
departing  from  custom  or  nature ; since  he  draws  a good  Courtesan, 
and  yet  engages  the  attention  of  the  Spectators  and  amuses  them. 
Colman  has  the  following  Note  here : “ Under  the  name  of  Thais,  Me- 
nander is  supposed  to  have  drawn  the  character  of  his  own  mistress, 
Glycerium,  and  it  seems  he  introduced  a Courtesan  of  the  same  name 
into  several  of  his  Comedies.  One  Comedy  was  entitled  ‘ Thais,’  from 
which  St.  Paul  took  the  sentence  in  his  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians, 
‘ Evil  communications  corrupt  good  manners.’  ” Plutarch  has  preserved 
four  lines  of  the  Prologue  to  that  Comedy,  in  which  the  Poet,  in  a kind 
of  mock-heroic  manner,  invokes  the  Muse  to  teach  him  to  depict  tho 
character  of  his  heroine. 


Act  II.,  Sc.  I.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


77 


in  the  present  case  I have  done,  for  this  girl’s  sake  have  I 
done  it ; for  I trust  that  now  I have  pretty  nearly  discovered 
her  brother,  a young  man  of  very  good  family ; and  he  has 
appointed  this  day  to  come  to  me  at  my  house.  I’ll  go 
hence  in-doors,  and  wait  until  he  comes.  {She  goes  into  her 
house.) 


ACT  THE  SECOND. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  PiiiEDRiA  and  Parmeno. 

Pn^Di  Mind  that  those  people  are  taken  there^  as  I or- 
dered. 

Par.  I’ll  do  so. 

PniED.  And  carefully. 

Par.  It  shall  be  done. 

Ph^d.  And  with  all  speed. 

Par.  It  shall  be  done. 

Pii^D.  Have  you  had  sufficient  instructions  % 

Par.  Dear  me!  to  ask  the  question,  as  though  it  were  a 
matter  of  difficulty.  I wish  that  you  were  able,  Phsedria,  to 
find  any  thing  as  easily  as  this  present  will  be  lost. 

Ph^d.  Together  with  it,  I mxjself  am  lost,  which  concerns 
me  more  nearly.  Don’t  bear  this  with  such  a feeling  of  vex- 
ation. 

Par.  By  no  means ; on  the  contrary.  I’ll  see  it  done.  But 
do  you  order  any  thing  else  1 

PHiED.  Set  off  my  present  with  words,  as  far  as  you  can ; 
and  so  far  as  you  are  able,  do  drive  away  that  rival  0/  mine 
from  her. 

Par.  Pshaw  I I should  have  kept  that  In  mind,  even  if  you 
hadn’t  reminded  me. 

PnAiD.  I shall  go  into  the  country  and  remain  there. 

Par.  I agree  with  you.  {Moves  as  if  going,) 

Pii^D.  But  hark  you  1 

Par.  What  is  it  you  want? 

PiiiED.  Are  you  of  opinion  that  I can  muster  resolution 
and  hold  out  so  as  not  to  come  back  within  the  time? 

Par.  What,  you?  Upon  my  faith,  I don’t  think  so;  for 


EUNUCHUS; 


78 


[Act  II. 


either  you’ll  be  returning  at  once,  or  by-and-by,  at  night, 
want  of  sleep  will  be  driving  you  hither. 

Pii^D.  I’ll  do  some  laborious  work,  that  I may  be  contin- 
ually fatigued,  so  as  to  sleep  in  spite  of  myself. 

Par.  When  wearied,  you  will  be  keeping  awake ; by  this 
you  will  be  making  it  worse. 

PiiyED.  Oh,  you  talk  to  no  purpose,  Parmeno : this  softness 
of  spirit,  upon  my  faith,  must  be  got  rid  of;  I indulge  myself 
too  much.  Could  I not  do  without  her,  pray,  if  there  were 
the  necessity,  even  for  a whole  three  days? 

Par.  Whew ! an  entire  three  days ! Take  care  what  you 
are  about. 

PiiiED.  My  mind  is  made  up.  {Exit, 

Scene  II. 

Parmeno  alone- 

Par.  {to  himself,)  Good  Gods ! What  a malady  is  this ! 
That  a man  should  become  so  changed  through  love,  that 
you  wouldn’t  know  him  to  be  the  same  person ! Not  any 
one  was  there^  less  inclined  to  folly  than  he,  and  no  one 
more  discreet  or  more  temperate.  But  who  is  it  that’s 
coming  this  way?  Heyday!  surely  this  is  Gnatho,  the  Cap- 
tain’s Parasite  ; he’s  bringing  along  with  him  the  damsel  as 
a present  to  her.  Heavens  ! How  beautiful!  No  wonder  if 
I make  but  a sorry  figure  here  to-day  with  this  decrepit 
Eunuch  of  mine.  She  surpasses  Thais  herself  {Stands 
aside,) 


Scene  III. 

Enter  Gnatho  at  a distance^  leading  Pampiiila. 

Gna.  {to  himself)  Immortal  Gods!  how  much  does  one 
man  excel  another!  What  a difference  there  is  between  a 
wise  person  and  a fool ! This  strongly  came  into  my 


‘ Not  any  one  was  there) — Yer.  226-7.  Very  nearly  the  same  words 
as  these  occur  in  the  Mostellaria  of  Plautus,  1.  29,  30 : “ Than  whom, 
hitherto,  no  one  of  the  youth  of  all  Attica  has  been  considered  more 
temperate  or  equally  frugal.” 


Sj.  HL] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


79 


mind  from  the  following  circumstance.  As  I was  coming 
along  to-day,  I met  a certain  person  of  this  place,  of  my 
own  rank  and  station,  no  mean  fellow,  one  who,  like  myself, 
liad  guttled  away  his  paternal  estate ; I saw  him,  shabby, 
dirty,  sickly,  beset  with  rags  and  years ; — What’s  the 
meaning  of  this  garb  f ’ said  I ; he  answered^  ‘‘  Because, 
wretch  that  I am,  I’ve  lost  what  I possessed : see  to  what 
I am  reduced, — all  my  acquaintances  and  friends  forsake 
me.”  On  this  I felt  contempt  for  him  in  comparison  with 
myself.  ‘^What!”  said  I,  ‘‘you  pitiful  sluggard,  have  you 
so  managed  matters  as  to  have  no  hope  left'?  Have  you 
lost  your  wits  together  with  your  estate*?  Don’t  you  see 
me,  who  have  risen  from  the  same  condition  % What  a com- 
plexion I have,  how  spruce  and  well  dressed,  what  portli- 
ness of  person  *?  I have  every  thing,  yet  have  nothing  ; and 
although  I possess  nothing,  still,  of  nothing  am  I in  want.” 
“But  I,”  said  “unhappily,  can  neither  be  a butt  nor 
submit  to  blows.”i  “What!”  said  I ^ “do  you  suppose  it 
''is  managed  by  those  means'?  You  are  quite  mistaken. 
Once  upon  a time,  in  the  early  ages,  there  was  a calling  for 
that  class ; this  is  a new  mode  of  coney-catching ; I,  in 
fact,  have  been  the  first  to  strike  into  this  path.  There 
is  a class  of  men  who  strive  to  be  the  first  in  every  thing, 
but  are  not ; to  these  I make  my  court ; I do  not  present 
myself  to  them  to  be  laughed  at ; but  I am  the  first  to  laugh 
with  them,  and  at  the  same  time  to  admire  their  parts : what- 
ever they  say,  I commend ; if  they  contradict  that  self-same 
thmg,  I commend  again.  Does  any  one  deny?  I deny:  does 
he  affirm?  I affirm:  in  fine,  I have  so  trained  myself  as  to 

^ Nor  submit  to  blows') — Ver.  244.  It  has  been  remarked  in  the  Notes 
to  the  Translation  of  Plautus  that  the  Parasites  had,  in  consequence 
of  their  state  of  dependence,  to  endure  blows  and  indignities  from  their 
fellow-guests.  Their  attempts  to  be  “ridiculi”  or  “drolls”  were  made 
in  order  to  give  some  small  return  to  their  entertainers.  See  espe- 
cially the  character  of  Gelasimus  in  the  Stichus  of  Plautus,  and  the 
words  of  Ergasilus  in  the  Captivi,  1.  88,  90.  Diderot,  as  quoted  by 
Colman,  observes:  “This  is  the  only  Scene  in  Terence  which  I re- 
member that  can  be  charged  with  being  superfluous.  Thraso  has  made 
a present  to  Thais  of  a young  girl.  Gnatho  is  to  convey  her.  Going 
along  with  her,  he  amuses  himself  with  giving  the  Spectators  a most 
agreeable  eulogium  on  his  profession.  But  was  that  the  time  for  it? 
Let  Gnatho  pay  due  attention  on  the  stage  to  the  young  woman  whom 
he  is  charged  with,  and  let  him  say  what  he  will  to  himself,  I consent 
to  it.” 


EUNUCIIUS ; 


80 


[Act  IJ. 


Immor  them  in  every  thing.  This  calling  is  now  by  far  the 
most  productive.” 

Fab.  (apart)  A clever  fellow,  upon  my  faith ! From  be- 
ing fools  he  makes  men  mad  outright. 

Gna.  (to  himself^  continuing.)  While  we  were  thus  talking, 
in  the  mean  time  we  arrived  at  the  market-place;  overjoyed, 
ail  the  confectioners  ran  at  once  to  meet  me;  fishmongers,^ 
butchers,  cooks, ^ sausage-makers,  and  fishermen,  whom,  both 
when  my  fortunes  were  flourishing  and  when  they  were  ruin- 
ed, I had  served,  and  often  serve  still:  they  complimented 
me,  asked  me  to  dinner,  and  gave  me  a hearty  welcome. 
AVhen  this  poor  hungry  wretch  saw  that  I was  in  such  great 
esteem,  and  that  I obtained  a.  living  so  easily,  then  the  fel- 
low began  to  entreat  me  that  I would  allow  him  to  learn  this 
method  of  me  ; I bade  him  become  my  follower^  if  he  could ; 
as  the  disciples  of  the  Philosophers  take  their  names  from 
the  Philosophers  themselves,  so  too,  the  Parasites  ought  to  be 
called  Gnathonics. 

Par.  (apart  to  the  Audience.)  Do  you  see  the  effects  of  ease 
and  feeding  at  another’s  cost? 

Gna.  {'o  himself^  continuing.)  But  why  do  I delay  to  take 
this  girl  to  Thais,  and  ask  her  to  come  to  dinner  ? (Aside, 
on  seeing  Parmeno.)  But  I sec  Parmeno,  our  rival’s  servant, 
waiting  before  the  door  of  Thais  with  a sorrowful  air ; all’s 
safe ; no  doubt  these  people  are  finding  a cold  welcome.  I’m 
resolved  to  have  some  sport  with  this  knave. 

Par.  (aside.).  They  fancy  that,  through  this  present,  Thais 
is  quite  their  own. 

Gna.  (accosting  Parmeno.)  With  his  very  best  wishes 

^ Fishmongers) — Yer.  257.  Cetarii strictly  speaking,  “ dealers  in 
large  fish.” 

Cooks) — Yer.  257.  The  ‘‘  coqui”  were  in  the  habit  of  standing  in 
the  market-place  for  hire  by  those  who  required  their  services.  See 
the  Pseudolus,  the  Aulularia,  and  the  Mercator  of  Plautus,  and  the 
Notes  to  Bohn’s  Translation.  See  also  a remark  on  the  knavish  char- 
acter of  the  sausage-makers  in  the  Truculentus  of  Plautus,  1.  110. 

^ Become  my  follower) — Yer.  262.  “ Sectari.”  In  allusion  to  the 
manners  of  the  ancient  Philosophers,  who  were  wont  to  be  followed  by 
a crowd  of  their  disciples,  who  were  styled  “ sectatores”  and  “ sectas.” 
Gnatho  intends  to  found  a new  school  of  Parasites,  who  shall  be  called 
the  “ Gnathonics,”  and  who,  by  their  artful  adulation,  shall  contrive  to 
be  caressed  instead  of  being  maltreated.  Artotrogus,  the  Parasite  in 
the  Miles  Gloriosus  of  Plautus,  seems,  however,  to  have  forestalled  Gna- 
tho as  the  founder  of  this  new  school. 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


81 


Gnatho  greets  Parmeno,  his  very  good  friend — ^What  are  you 
doing '? 

Pak.  I’m  standing.  1 

Gna.  So  I perceive.  Pi'ay,  do  you  see  any  thing  here  that 
don’t  please  you  1 

Pak.  Yourself. 

Gna.  I believe  you^ — but  any  thing  else,  pray  ? 

Pak.  Why  so? 

Gna.  Because  you  are  out  of  spirits. 

Pain  Not  in  the  least. 

Gna.  Well.,  don’t  be  so ; but  what  think  you  of  this  slave? 
{jioiiiting  to  her.) 

Pak.  Keally,  not  amiss. 

Gna.  {aside.)  I’ve  galled  the  fellow. 

Pak.  {asidej  on  overhearing  him.)  Plow  mistaken  you  are  in 
your  notion ! 

Gna.  How  far  do  you  suppose  this  gift  will  prove  accept- 
able to  Thais? 

Pak.  It’s  this  you  mean  to  say  now,  that  we  are  discarded 
there.  Hark  you,  there  are  vicissitudes  in  all  things. 

Gna.  For  the  next  six  months,  Parmeno,  I’ll  set  you  at 
case ; you  sha’n’t  have  to  be  running  to  and  fro,  or  sitting  up 
till  daylight.  Don’t  I make  you  happy  ? 

Pak.  Me?  O prodigiously ! 

Gna.  That’s  my  way  with  my  friends. 

Pak.  I commend  you. 


^ I'm  standing) — Ver.  271.  Quid  agitiir?”  “ Statur.”  The  same 
joke  occurs  in  the  Pscudolus  of  Plautus,  1.  457.  “Quid  agitur?  Sta- 
tur  hie  ad  huiic  moduin?”  “What  is  going  on?”  or  “What  are  you 
about?”  “About  standing  here  in  this  fashion;”  assuming  an  atti- 
tude. Colman  observes  that  there  is  much  the  same  kind  of  conceit  in 
the  “Merry  Wives  of  Windsor.” 

Palstaff.  “ My  honest  lads,  I will  tell  you  what  I am  about.” 

Pistol.  “ Tv/o  yards  or  more.” 

Cooke  has  the  following  note:  “ ‘Quid  agitur’  is  to  be  supposed  to 
have  a single  meaning  as  spoken  by  Gnatho,  but  Parmeno  archly  ren- 
ders it  ambiguous  by  his  answer.  Our  two  first  English  translations, 
that  by  Bernard  and  that  by  Hoole,  make  nothing  of  it,  nor  indeed  any 
other  part  of  their  author.  Echard  follows  Madame  Dacier,  and  per- 
ceives a joke ; but  he  does  not  render  ‘ quid  agitur’  as  the  question 
ought  to  be  translated.  ‘Quid  agitur’  sometimes  means,  ‘What  are 
you  doing?’  Sometimes,  ‘How  do  you  do?’  ‘How  are  you?’  or  ‘How 
goes  the  world  with  you  ?’  ” 

D 2 


82  EUNUCHUS;  j [Act  II. 

Gna.  I’m  detaining  you ; perhaps  you  wei'e  about  to  go 
somewhere  else. 

Par.  Nowhere. 

Gna.  In  that  case  then,  lend  me  your  services  a little ; let 
me  be  introduced  to  her. 

Far.  Very  well ; (Gnatiio  hnoclcs  at  the  door^  which  imme- 
diatelu  opens)  now  the  door  is  open  for  you,  {aside)  because  you  | 
are  brinsring  her. 

O C3 

Gna.  {going  into  the  house  of  Thais,  ironically,)  Should  you 
like  any  one  to  be  called  out  from  here  ? ( Goes  in  with  Pam-  ^ 

PHiLA,  and  shuts  the  door.) 


Scene  IV. 

Parmeno,  alone. 

Par.  {to  himself.)  Only  let  the  next  two  days  go  by ; you 
who,  at  present,  in  such  high  favor,  are  opening  the  door  with 
one  little  finger,  assuredly  I’ll  cause  to  be  kicking  at  that  door 
full  oft,  with  your  heels,  to  no  purpose. 

Re-enter  Gnatiio  y*ro??^  the  house. 

Gna.  Still  standing  here,  Parmeno?  Why  now,  have  you 
been  left  on  guard  here,  that  no  go-between  might  perchance 
be  secretly  running  from  the  Captain  to  her?  {Exit. 

Par.  Smartly  said  ; really  they  ought  to  he  wonderful  things 
to  please  the  Captain.  But  I see  my  master’s  youngest  son 
coining  this  way ; I wonder  why  he  has  come  away  from  tlie 
Piraeus,^  for  he  is  at  present  on  guard  there  in  the  public  serv- 
ice. It’s  not  for  nothing;  he’s  coming  in  a hurry,  too;  I 
can’t  imagine  why  he’s  looking  around  in  all  directions. 

Scene  V. 

Eater  Chorea  on  the  other  side  of  the  stage,  in  haste. 

Ch^.  {to  himself.)  I’m  utterly  undone ! The  girl  is  no- 

^ Fi'om  the  Pirceus) — Ver.  290.  The  Pineus  was  the  chief  harbor  of  ^ 
Athens,  at  the  mouth  of  the  Cephisus,  about  three  miles  from  the  City. 

It  was  joined  to  the  town  by  two  walls,  one  of  which  was  built  by  Thc- 
mistocles,  and  the  other  by  Pericles.  It  was  the  duty  of  the  Athenian 
youth  to  watch  here  in  turn  by  way  of  precaution  against  surprise  by 
pirates  or  the  enemy. 


Sj.  V.]  THE  EUNUCH.  83  ^ 

where ; nor  do  I know  where  I am  myself,  to  have  lost  sight 
of  her.  Where  to  inquire  for  her,  where  to  search  for  her, 
whom  to  ask,  which  way  to  turn.  I’m  at  a loss.  I have  only 
this  hope ; wherever  she  is,  she  can  not  long  be  concealed. 

O what  beauteous  features!  from  this  moment  I banish  all 
other  women  from  my  thoughts ; I can  not  endure  these  ev- 
ery-day beauties. 

Pak.  {apart)  Why  look,  here’s  the  other  one.  lie’s  say- 
ing something,  I don’t  know  what,  about  love.  O unfortu- 
nate old  man,  their  father  ! This  assuredly  is  a youth,  who, 
if  he  does  begin,  you  will  say  that  the  other  one  was  mere 
play  and  pastime,  compared  with  what  the  madness  of  this 
one  will  cause. 

CiiM.  (to  himself  aloud,)  May  all  the  Gods  and  Goddesses 
confound  that  old  fellow  who  detained  me  to-day,  and  me  as 
well  who  stopped  for  him,  and  in  fact  troubled  myself  a straw 
about  him.  But  see,  here’s  Parmeno.  (Addressing  him.) 
Good-morrow  to  you. 

Par.  Why  are  you  out  of  spirits,  and  why  in  such  a hurry? 
Whence  come  you  ? 

CiiiE.  What,  I ? I’faith,  I neither  know  whence  I’m  come, 
nor  whither  Pm  going ; so  utterly  have  I lost  myself. 

Par.  How,  pray? 

Oh^.  Pm  in  love. 

Par.  (starting.)  Ha ! 

Cii^.  Now,  Parmeno,  you  may  show  what  sort  of  a man 
you  are.  You  know  that  you  often  promised  me  to  this  effect: 

“ Cha3rea,  do  you  only  find  some  object  to  fall  in  love  with ; 
I’ll  make  you  sensible  of  my  usefulness  in  such  matters,” 
when  I used  to  be  storing  up  my  father’s  provisions  for  you 
on  the  sly  in  your  little  room.^ 

Par.  To  the  point,  you  simpleton. 

CiiiE.  Upon  my  faith,  this  is  the  fact.  Now,  then,  let 
your  promises  be  made  good,  if  you  please,  or  if  indeed  the 
affair  is  a deserving  one  for  you  to  exert  your  energies 
upon.  The  girl  isn’t  like  our  girls,  whom  their  mothers  arc 

’ In  your  Utile  room) — Yer.  310.  Though  “ cellulara”  seems  to  be 
considered  by  some  to  mean  “cupboard”  or  “larder,”  it  is  more  prob- 
able that  it  here  signifies  the  little  room  which  was  appropriated  to  each 
slave  in  the  family  for  his  own  use. 


84 


EUNUCIIUS; 


[Act  II. 


anxious,  to  have  with  shoulders  kept  down,  and  chests  well 
girthed,-  that  they  may  be  slender.  If  one  is  a little  inclined 
to  plumpness,  they  declare  that  she’s  training  for  a boxer, 
and  stint  her  food  ; although  their  constitutions  are  good,  by 
their  treatment  they  make  them  as  slight  as  bulrushes;  and 
so  for  that  reason  they  are  admired,  forsooth- 

Pae.  What  sort  of  a girl  is  this  one  of  yours  ? 

Cri^.  A new  style  of  beauty. 

Pae,  (ironically})  Astounding ! 

Ch^e.  Her  complexion  genuine,^  her  flesh  firm  and  full  of 
juiciness."^ 

Par.  Her  age? 

CiiiE.  Her  age?  Sixteen. 

Par.  The  very  flower  of  youth. ^ 

Ch^.  Do  you  make  it  your  care  to  obtain  her  for  me  ei- 
ther by  force,  stealth,  or  entreaty ; so  that  I only  gain  her, 
it  matters  not  how  to  me. 


^ Shoulders  kept  down  and  chests  well  girthed) — Ver.  314.  Ovid,  in  tlie 
Art  of  Love,  B.  iii.,  1.  274,  alludes  to  the  ‘‘ strophium”  or  “girth”  here 
referred  to:  “For  high  shoulders,  small  pads  are  suitable;  and  let  the 
girth  encircle  the  bosom  that  is  too  prominent.”  Becker  thinks  that 
the  “ strophium”  was  different  from  the  “ fascia”  or  “ stomacher,”  men- 
tioned in  the  Kemedy  of  Love,  1.  338  : “Does  a swelling  bosom  cover 
all  her  breast,  let  no  stomacher  conceal  it.”  From  Martial  wc  learn 
that  the  “strophium”  was  made  of  leather. 

2 'Training  for  a hoxei') — Ver.  315.  “Pugilem.”  This  means  “ro- 
bust as  a boxer,”  or  “ athlete.”  These  persons  were  naturally  consid- 
ered as  the  types  of  robustness,  being  dieted  for  the  purpose  of  increas- 
ing their  flesh  and  muscle. 

^ Complexion  genuine) — Ver.  318.  “Color  verus.”  The  same  ex- 
pression is  used  by  Ovid,  in  the  Art  of  Love,  B.  iii.,  1.  164 : “ Et  melior 
vcro  quasritur  arte  color:”  “And  by  art  a color  is  sought  superior  to 
the  genuine  one.” 

^ Full  of  juiciness) — Ver.  318.  “ Succi  plenum.”  A similar  expres- 
sion occurs  in  the  Miles  Gloriosus  of  Plautus,  1.  787,  where  Peripleco- 
menus  wishes  inquiry  to  be  made  for  a woman  who  is  “ siccam,  at  suc- 
cidam,”  “ sober,  but  full  of  juice :”  i.  e,  replete  with  the  plumpness  and 
ic.'tivity  of  youth. 

^ The  very  flower  of  youth) — Ver.  319.  Ovid  makes  mention  of  the 
“flos”  or  “bloom”  of  youth.  Art  of  Love,  B.  ii.,  1.  663:  “And  don’t 
you  inquire  what  year  she  is  now  passing,  nor  under  what  Consulshi]) 
she  was  born  ; a privilege  which  the  rigid  Censor  possesses.  And  this, 
especially,  if  she  has  passed  the  bloom  of  youth,  and  her  best  years  are 
fled,  and  she  now  pulls  out  the  whitening  hairs.” 


THE  EUNUCH. 


85 


1 

Sc.  V.] 

Par.  Well,  but  to  whom  does  the  damsel  belong? 

Cii^.  That^  i’faith,  I don’t  know. 

Par.  Whence  did  she  come? 

CiiiE.  That^  just  as  much. 

Par.  Where  does  she  live  ? 

Ch^.  Nor  yet  do  I know  that. 

Par.  Where  did  you  see  her  ? 

CiiiE.  In  the  street. 

Par.  How  did  you  come  to  lose  her  ? 

Cii^.  Why,  that’s  what  I was  just  now  fretting  myself 
about ; and  I do  not  believe  that  there  is  one  individual  to 
whom  all  good  luck  is  a greater  stranger  than  to  myself. 
AVhat  ill  fortune  this  is.!  I’m  utterly  undone! 

Par.  What’s  the  matter? 

CiRE.  Do  you  ask  me?  Do  you  know  Archidemides,  ray 
father's  kinsman  and  years’-matc? 

Par.  Yfhy  not? 

CiRE.  He,  while  I was  in  full  pursuit  of  her,  met  me. 

Par.  Unseasonably,  upon  my  faith. 

CiiiE.  Aye,  unhappily,  rather;  for  other  ordinary  matters 
are  to  be  called  “ unseasonable,”  Parmeno.  It  would  be  safe 
for  me  to  make  oath  that  I have  not  seen  him  for  fully  these 
six  or  seven  months,  until  just  now,  when  I least  wanted, 
and  there  was  the  least  occasion.  Come  now ! isn’t  this  like 
a fatality?  What  do  you  say? 

Par.  Extremely  so. 

CiiM.  At  once  he  came  running  up  to  me,  from  a consider- 
able distance,  stooping,  palsied,  hanging  his  lip,  and  wheezing. 
‘^Halloo,  Chserea  ! halloo!”  said  he;  I’ve  something  to  say 
to  you.”  I stopped.  “ Do  you  know  what  it  is  I want 
with  you?”  said  he.  “Say  on, said  I.  “To-morrow  my 
cause  comes  on said  he,  “What  then?”  “Be  sure  and 
tell  your  father  to  remember  and  be  my  advocate^  in  the 


^ Be  my  advocate') — Ver.  340.  Advocatus.”  It  must  bo  remem- 
bered that  this  word  did  not  among  the  Romans  bear  the  same  sense  as 
tiie  word  “advocate”  does  with  us.  The  “advocati”  were  the  friends 
of  a man  who  accompanied  him  when  his  cause  was  jjleaded,  and  often 
])erformed  the  part  of  witnesses ; those  who  assisted  a person  in  a dis- 
pute or  difficulty  were  also  his  “advocati,”  ?.nd  in  this  respect  distantly 
resembled  the  “ second”  or  “ friend”  of  a party  in  the  modern  duel.  In 
the  Phormio,  Hegio,  Cratinus,  and  Crito  are  introduced  as  the  “advo- 


8G 


EUNUCIIUS ; 


[Act  li. 


morning.”  In  talking  of  this,  an  hour  elapsed.  ^ I inquired 
if  he  wanted  any  thing  else-  ^‘That’s  all,”  said  he.  I left 
him.  When  I looked  in  this  direction  for  the  damsel,  she 
had  that  very  instant  turned  this  way  down  this  street  of 
ours. 

Par.  (aside.)  It’s  a wonder  if  he  doesn’t  mean  her  who  has 
just  now  been  made  a present  of  to  Thais  here. 

CiiiE.  When  I got  here,  she  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

Far.  Some  attendants,  I suppose,  were  accompanying  the 

girn 

Ch^.  Yes  ; a Parasite,  and  a female  servant. 

Par.  (apart.)  It’s  the  very  same.  (To  Chorea.)  It’s  all 
over  with  you;  make  an  end  of  it ; you’ve  said  your  last.^ 

CiiiE.  You  are  thinking  about  something  else. 

Par.  Indeed  I’m  thinking  of  this  same  matter. 

CiiiE.  Pray,  tell  me,  do  you  know  her,  or  did  you  see 
her? 

Par.  I did  sec,  and  I do  know  her ; I am  aware  to  what 
house  she  has  been  taken. 

Ch^e.  What,  my  dear  Parmeno,  do  you  know  her,  and  are 
you  aware  where  she  is  ? 

Par.  She  has  been  brought  here  (pointing)  to  the  house  of 
Thais  the  Courtesan.^  She  has  been  made  a present  to  her. 

Cylm.  Yv^hat  opulent  person  is  it,  to  be  presenting  a gift  so 
precious  as  this  ? 

Par.  The  Captain  Thraso,  Phasdria’s  rival. 


cati”  of  Demiplio.  See  also  the  Poeiiulus  of  Plautus,  and  the  Notes  to 
that  Play  in  Bohn’s  Translation. 

^ An  hour  elapsed) — Ver.  341.  “Hora”  is  here  used  to  signify  the 
long  time,  that,  in  his  impatience,  it  appeared  to  him  to  be. 

^ IVs  all  over  with  you, — you^ve  said  your  last) — Yer.  347.  “Ilicet” 
and  “conclamatum  est,”  are  words  of  mournful  import,  which  were 
used  with  regard  to  the  funeral  rites  of  the  Romans.  “Ilicet,”  ‘‘you 
may  begone,”  was  said  aloud  when  the  funeral  was  concluded.  “ Con- 
clamare,”  implied  the  ceremony  of  calling  upon  the  dead  person  by 
name,  before  light  was  set  to  the  funeral  pile  ; on  no  answer  being  given, 
he  was  concluded  to  be  really  dead,  and  the  pile  was  set  fire  to  amid 
the  cries  of  those  present : “ conclamatum  est”  would  consequently  sig- 
nify that  all  hope  has  gone. 

^ Thais  the  Courtesan) — Yer.  352.  Cooke  remarks  here,  somewhat 
hypercritically  as  it  would  seem:  “Thais  is  not  called  ‘ meretrix’  here 
opprobriously,  but  to  distinguish  her  from  other  ladies  of  the  same  name, 
who  were  not  of  the  same  profession.” 


Ic.  V.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


87 


CniE.  An  unpleasant  business  for  my  brother,  it  should 
seem. 

Pak.  Aye,  and  if  you  did  but  know  what  present  he  is  pit- 
ting against  this  present,  you  would  say  so  still  more. 

Ch^.  Troth  now,  what  is  it,  pray  ? 

Par.  a Eunuch.  1 

CniE.  What!  that  unsightly  creature,  pray,  that  he  pur- 
chased yesterday,  an  old  woman  ? 

Par.  That  very  same. 

CiiiE.  To  a certainty,  the  gentleman  will  be  bundled  out 
of  doors,  together  with  his  present ; but  I wasn’t  aware  that 
this  Thais  is  our  neighbor. 

Par.  It  isn’t  long  since  she  came. 

CniE.  Unhappy  wretch  that  I am  ! never  to  have  seen  her, 
even.  Come  now,  just  tell  me,  is  she  as  handsome  as  she  is 
reported  to  be  V 

Par.  Quite. 

CiT^-.  But  nothing  in  comparison  with  this  damsel  of  mine 

Par.  Another  thing  altogether. 

Cii^.  Troth  now,  Parmeno,  prithee  do  contrive  for  me  to 
gain  possession  of  her. 

Par.  ITl  do  my  best,  and  use  all  my  endeavors ; I’ll  lend 
you  my  assistance.  (^Going.)  Do  you  want  any  thing  else 
with  me? 

Cha2.  Where  are  you  going  now? 

Par.  Home  ; to  take  those  slaves  to  Thais,  as  your  brother 
ordered  me. 

CiiM.  Oh,  lucky  Eunuch  that ! really,  to  be  sent  as  a pres- 
ent to  that  house  I 

^ A Eunuch) — Ver.  3oG.  Eunuchs  formed  part  of  the  establishment 
of  wealthy  persons,  who,  in  imitation  of  the  Eastern  nobles,  confided 
the  charge  of  their  wives,  daughters,  or  mistresses  to  them.  Though 
Thais  would  have  no  such  necessity  for  his  services,  her  wish  to  imitate 
the  ‘‘reginae,”  or  “great  ladies,”  would  make  him  a not  unacceptable 
present.  See  the  Addresses  of  Ovid  to  the  Eunuch  Bagoiis  in  the 
Amours,  B.  ii.,  El.  2,  3. 

^ As  she  is  reported  to  he') — Ver.  361.  Donatus  remarks  this  as  an 
instance  of  the  art  of  Terence,  in  preserving  the  probability  of  Chserea’s 
being  received  for  the  Eunuch.  He  shows  hereby  that  he  is  so  entirely 
a stranger  to  the  family  that  he  does  not  even  know  the  person  of  Thais. 
It  is  also  added  that  she  has  not  been  long  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
he  has  been  on  duty  at  the  Piraeus.  The  meaning  of  his  regret  is,  that, 
not  knowing  Thais,  he  will  not  have  an  op])ortunity  of  seeing  the  girl. 


88 


EUNUCHUS; 


[Act  II.,  Sc.  V 


Par.  Why  so  ? 

CiiiE.  Do  you  ask?  He  will  always  see  at  home  a fellow- 
servant  of  consummate  beauty,  and  be  conversing  with  her; 
he  will  be  in  the  same  house  with  her;  sometimes  he  will 
take  his  meals  with  her ; sometimes  sleep  near  her. 

Par.  What  now,  if  you  yourself  were  to  be  this  fortunate 
person  ? 

CiiiE.  By  what  means,  Parmeno  ? Tell  me. 

Par.  Do  you  assume  his  dress. 

CiiM.  His  dress!  Well,  what  then? 

Par.  I’ll  take  you  there  instead  of  him. 

Cii^.  {musing,)  I hear  you. 

Par.  ril  say  that  you  are  he. 

CiiiE.  I understand  you. 

Par.  You  may  enjoy  those  advantages  which  you  just 
now  said  he  ivould  enjoy ; you  may  take  your  meals  together 
with  her,  be  in  company  with  her,  touch  her,  dally  with  her, 
and  sleep  by  her  side ; as  not  one  of  these  women  is  ac- 
quainted with  you,  nor  yet  knows  who  you  are.  Besides, 
}'ou  are  of  an  age  and  figure  that  you  may  easily  pass  for  a 
eunuch. 

Cii^.  You  speak  to  the  purpose ; I never  knew  better 
counsel  given.  Well,  let’s  go  in  at  once ; dress  me  up,  take 
me  away,  lead  me  to  her,  as  fast  as  you  can. 

Par.  What  do  you  mean  ? Peally,  I was  only  joking. 

CiiiE.  You  talk  nonsense. 

Par.  I’m  undone ! Wretch  that  I am ! what  have  I done? 
(CiTxEREA  pushes  him  along.)  Whither  are  you  pushing  me? 
You’ll  throw  me  down  presently.  I entreat  you,  be  quiet. 

CiEE.  Let’s  be  off.  {Pushes  him.) 

Par.  Do  you  still  persist  ? 

CiEE.  I am  resolved  upon  it. 

Par.  Only  take  care  that  this  isn’t  too  rash  a project. 

CriiE.  Certainly  it  isn’t ; let  me  alone  for  that. 

Par.  Aye,  but  I shall  have  to  pay  the  penalty^  for  this  ? 

^ Have  to  pay  the  penalty) — Ver.  381.  “In  me  cudetur  faba,’^  lit- 
erally, “the  bean  will  be  struck”  or  “laid  about  me;”  meaning,  “I 
shall  have  to  smart  for  it.”  There  is  considerable  doubt  what  is  the 
origin  of  this  expression,  and  this  doubt  existed  as  early  as  the  time  of 
Donatus.  He  says  that  it  was  a proverb  either  taken  from  the  threshing 
of  beans  with  a flail  by  the  countrymen  ; or  else  from  the  circumstance 
of  the  cooks  who  have  dressed  the  beans,  but  have  not  moistened  them 


Act  III.,  Sc.  I.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


89 


Ciiii’:.  Pshaw! 

Par.  We  shall  be  guilty  of  a disgraceful  action. 

CiRii.  What,  is  it  disgracefuU  to  be  taken  to  the  house  of 
a Courtesan,  and  to  return  the  compliment  upon  those  tor- 
mentors wlio  treat  us  and  our  youthful  age  so  scornfully,  and 
who  are  always  tormenting  us  in  every  way ; — to  dupe  them 
just  as  we  are  duped  by  them?  Or  is  it  right  and  proper 
tliat  in  preference  my  father  should  be  wheedled  out  of  his  mon- 
ey by  deceitful  pretexts  ? Those  who  knew  of  this  would  blame 
me  ; while  all  would  think  the  other  a meritorious  act. 

Par.  What’s  to  be  done  in  such  case?  If  you  are  determ- 
ined to  do  it,  you  must  do  it ; but  don’t  you  by-and-by  be 
throwing  the  blame  upon  me. 

Cn^.  I shall  not  do  so. 

Par.  Do  you  order  me,  then  ? 

Ch^.  I order,  charge,  and  command  you  ; I will  never  dis- 
avow my  authorizing  you. 

Par.  Follow  me ; may  the  Gods  prosper  it  1 {They  go  into 
the  house  of  Laches.) 


ACT  THE  THIRD. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Thraso  and  Gnatiio. 

Tiira.  Did  Thais  really  return  me  many  thanks  ? 

Gna.  Exceeding  thanks, 

Tiira.  Was  she  delighted,  say  you? 

Gna.  Not  so  much,  indeed,  at  the  present  itself,  as  because 
it  was  given  by  you ; really,  in  right  earnest,  she  does  exult 
at  that. 

siifiiciently,  bcino:  sure  to  have  them  thrown  at  their  heads,  as  though 
for  the  purpose  of  softening  them.  Neither  of  these  solutions  seems  so 
probable  as  that  suggested  by  Madame  Dacier,  that  dried  beans  were 
inserted  in  the  thongs  of  the  “ scuticae,”  or  ‘‘whips,”  with  which  the 
slaves  were  beaten.  According  to  others  the  knots  in  the  whips  were 
only  called  “fabie,”  from  their  resemblance  to  beans. 

' Is  it  disgraceful) — Ver.  382.  Donatus  remarks  that  here  Terence 
obliquely  defends  the  subject  of  the  Play. 


90 


EUNUCHUS ; 


[Act  III. 


Enter  Paiimeko  unseen^  from  Laches’  house. 

Pak.  (apart.)  I’ve  come  here  to  be  on  the  look-out,  that 
when  there  is  an  opportunity  I may  take  the  presents.  But 
see,  here’s  the  Captain. 

Thra.  Undoubtedly  it  is  the  case  with  me,  that  every  thing 
I do  is  a cause  for  thankfulness. 

Gna.  Upon  my  faith,  Pve  observed  it. 

Thra.  The  most  mighty  King,^  even,  always  used  to  give 
me  especial  thanks  for  whatever  I did ; but  not  so  to  others. 

Gna.  He  who  has  the  wit  that  you  have,  often  by  his  words 
appropriates  to  himself  the  glory  that  has  been  achieved  by  the 
labor  of  others. 

Thra.  You’ve  just  hit  it.- 

Gna.  The  king,  then,  kept  you  in  his  eye.^ 

Thra.  Just  so. 

Gna.  To  enjoy  your  societ}^ 

Thra.  True ; he  intrusted  to  me  all  his  army,  all  his  state 
secrets. 


^ The  most  mighty  King) — Ver.  397.  It  has  been  suggested  that  Da- 
rius III.  is  here  alluded  to,  who  was  a contemporary  of  Menander.  As 
however  Pyrrhus,  king  of  Epirus,  is  mentioned  in  this  Play,  there  is  no 
necessity  to  go  out  of  the  way  to  make  Terence  guilty  of  an  anachro- 
nism. Madame  Dacier  suggests  that  Seleucus,  king  of  part  of  Asia 
Minor,  is  meant ; and  as  Thraso  is  called  “ a stranger”  or  “ foreigner” 
toward  the  end  of  the  Play,  he  probably  was  intended  to  be  represented 
as  a native  of  Asia  and  a subject  of  Seleucus.  One  of  the  Seleuci  was 
also  favored  with  the  services  of  Pyrgopolinices,  the  “Braggart  Cap- 
tain” of  Plautus,  in  the  Miles  Gloriosus.  See  1.  75  in  that  Play : “ For 
King  Seleucus  entreated  me  with  most  earnest  suit  that  I would  raise 
and  enlist  recruits  for  him.” 

^ You've  just  hit  it) — Ver.  401.  Colman  here  remarks,  quoting  the 
following  passage  from  Shakspeare’s  “ Love’s  Labor  Lost,”  “That  that 
Poet  was  familiarly  acquainted  with  this  Comedy  is  evident  from  the 
passage,  ‘ Holofernes  says,  Novi  hominem  tanquam  te.  His  humor  is  lofty, 
his  discourse  peremptory,  his  tongue  filed,  his  eye  ambitious,  his  gait 
majestical,  and  his  general  behavior  vain,  ridiculous,  and  Thrasonical.’  ” 
We  may  remark  that  the  previous  words  of  Gnatho,  though  spoken  with 
reference  to  the  King,  contain  a reproach  against  the  Captain's  boast- 
fulness, though  his  vanity  will  not  let  him  perceive  it. 

^ In  his  eye) — Ver.  401.  “In  oculis”  is  generally  supposed  to  mean 
“as  dearly  in  his  eyes.”  As,  however,  the  Satraps  of  the  East  were 
called  “ the  king's  eyes,”  those  who  suppose  that  Darius  is  alluded  to, 
might  with  some  ground  consider  the  passage  as  meaning  that  the  king 
ranked  him  in  the  number  of  his  nobles.  See  the  Ptenulus  of  Plautus, 
X,  693,  and  the  Note  in  Bohn’s  Translation. 


Sc.  I.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


91 


Gna.  Astonishing ! 

Thra.  Then  if,  on  any  occasion,  a surfeit  of  society,  or  a 
dislike  of  business,  came  upon  him,  when  he  was  desirous  to 
take  some  recreation  ; just  as  though — you  understand 

Gna.  I know ; just  as  though  on  occasion  he  would  rid  his 
mind  of  those  anxieties. 

Thra.  You  have  it.  Then  he  used  to  take  me  aside  as 
his  only  boon  companion. 

Gna.  Whew ! You  are  telling  of  a King  of  refined  taste. 

Thra.  Aye,  he  is  a person  of  that  sort ; a man  of  but  very 
few  acquaintanceships. 

^ Gna.  {aside.)  Indeed,  of  none,^  I fancy,  if  he’s  on  intimate 
terms  with  you. 

Thra.  All  the  people  envied  me,  and  attacked  me  private- 
ly. I don’t  care  one  straw.  They  envied  me  dreadfully; 
but  one  in  particular,  whom  the  King  had  appointed  over  the 
Indian  elephants.^  Once,  when  he  became  particularly  troub- 
lesome, ‘‘Prithee,  Strato,”  said  I,  “are  you  so  fierce  because 
you  hold  command  over  the  wild  beasts 

Gna.  Cleverly  said,  upon  my  faith,  and  shrewdly.  Astound- 
ing ! You  did  give  the  fellow  a home  thrust.  What  said  he  ? 

Thra.  Dumfounded,  instantaneously. 

Gna.  How  could  he  be  otherwise  ? 

Par.  (apart.)  Ye  Gods,  by  our  trust  in  you ! a lost  and 
miserable  fellow  the  one,  and  the  other  a scoundrel. 

Thra.  Well  then,  about  that  matter,  Gnatho,  the  way  in 
which  I touched  up  the  Ehodian  at  a banquet — did  I never 
tell  you  ? 

^ You  understand) — Ver.  405.  He  says  this  at  the  very  moment  when 
he  is  at  a loss  what  to  say  next ; the  Parasite  ohligingiy  steps  in  to  help 
him  out  with  the  difficulty. 

^ Indeed,  of  none) — Yer.  410.  “Immo,  nullorum  arbitror,  si  tecum 
vivit.”  This  expression  which  is  used  “aside,”  has  two  meanings, 
neither  of  which  is  complimentary  to  the  Captain.  It  may  mean,  “he 
has  no  society  if  he  associates  with  you,”  making  the  Captain  equivalent 
to  nobody ; or  it  may  signify,  “ if  he  associates  with  you  he’ll  be  sure  to 
drive  all  his  other  acquaintances  away.” 

^ Goer  the  Indian  elephants) — Yei\  il3.  Here  he  shows  his  lofty  posi- 
tion to  perfection ; he  dares  to  take  down  the  pride  of  one  who  com- 
manded even  the  royal  elephants.  The  Braggart  Captain  of  Plautus 
comes  into  collision  with  the  elephants  themselves : 1.  26.  Artotrogus 
says  to  him,  “ In  what  a fashion  it  was  you  broke  the  fore-leg  of  even  an 
elephant  in  India  with  your  fist!” 


9 2 EUNUCHUS ; [Act  III. 

Gna.  Never;  but  pray,  do  tell  me.  {Aside.)  I’ve  heard  it 
more  than  a thousand  times  already. 

Thra.  There  was  in  my  company  at  a banquet,  this  young 
man  of  Rhodes,  whom  I’m  speaking  of.  By  chance  I had  a 
mistress  there ; he  began  to  toy  with  her,  and  to  annoy  me. 
‘‘What  are  you  doing,  sir  impudence?”  said  I to  the  fellow; 

“ a hare  yourself,  and  looking  out  for  game?”^ 

Gna.  {loretending  to  laugh  very  heartily.)  Ha,  lia,  ha ! 

Tiika.  What’s  the  matter? 

Gna.  How  apt,  how  smart,  how  clever;  nothing  he 

more  excellent.  Prithee,  was  this  a saying  of  yours  ? I fan- 
cied it  was  an  old  one.  ^ 

Thka.  Did  you  ever  hear  it  before? 

Gna.  Many  a time;  and  it  is  mentioned  among  the  first- 
rate  ones. 

Titra.  It’s  my  own. 

Gna.  I’m  sorry  though  that  it  was  said  to  a thoughtless 
young  man,  and  one  of  respectability. 

Par.  {apart.)  May  the  Gods  confound  you ! 

Gna.  Pray,  what  did  he  do 

Tiira.  Quite  disconcerted.  All  who  were  present  were  dy- 
ing with  laughter;  in  short,  they  were  all  quite  afraid  of  me. 

Gna.  Not  without  reason. 

Thra.  But  hark  you,  had  I best  clear  myself  of  this  to 
Thais,  as  to  her  suspicion  that  I’m  fond  of  this  girl? 

Gna.  By  no  means  : on  the  contrary,  rather  increase  her 
jealousy. 

Thra.  Why  so? 

Gna.  Do  you  ask  me?  Don’t  you  see,  if  on  any  occasion 
she  makes  mention  of  Ph^dria  or  commends  him,  to  provoke 
you 

^ Looking  out  for  game?) — Yer.  426.  “ Pulmentum,”  more  strictly 
speaking-,  “A  nice  bit.”  Patrick  has  the  following  Note  on  this  pas- 
sage : “ ‘ Lepus  tute  es,  et  pulmentum  qu£eris  ?’  A proverbial  expression 
in  use  at  that  time : the  proper  meaning  of  it,  stripped  of  its  figure,  is, 

‘ You  are  little  more  than  a woman  yourself,  and  do  you  want  a mis- 
tress?”’ We  learn  from  Donatus^  and  Vopiscus,  that  Livius  Androni-  j 
cus  had  used  this  proverb  in  his  Plays  before  Terence.  Commentators  ' 
who  enter  into  a minute  explanation  of  it  offer  many  conjectures  rather 
curious  than  solid,  and  of  a nature  not  fit  to  be  mentioned  here.  Bonatus 
seems  to  think  that  allusion  is  made  to  a story  prevalent  among  the  am  ■ 
cient  naturalists  that  the  hare  was  in  the  habit  of  changing  its  sex.  ; 


Sc.  IL] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


93 


Tiika.  I understand. 

Gna.  That  such  may  not  be  the  case,  this  method  is  the 
only  remedy.  When  she  speaks  of  Pha3dria,  do  you  instantly 
mention  Pamphila.  If  at  any  time  she  says,  “ Let’s  invite 
Phasdria  to  make  one,”  do  you  soy^  “Let’s  ask  Pamphila  to 
sing.”  If  she  praises  his  good  looks,  do  you,  on  the  other 
hand,  praise  hers.  In  short,  do  you  return  like  for  like,  whicli 
will  mortify  her. 

Tiira.  If,  indeed,  she  loved  me,^  this  might  be  of  some  use, 
Gnatho. 

Gna.  Since  she  is  impatient  for  and  loves  that  which  you 
give  her,  she  already  loves  you ; as  it  is,  then^  it  is  an  easy 
^matter  for  her  to  feel  vexed.  She  will  be  always  afraid  lest 
the  presents  which  she  herself  is  now  getting,  you  may  on 
some  occasion  be  taking  elsewhere.  ^ 

TTira.  Well  said;  that  never  came  into  my  mind. 

Gna.  Nonsense.  You  never  thought  about  it;  else  how 
much  more  readily  would  you  yourself  have  hit  upon  it, 
Thraso  1 

Scene  II. 

0 

Enter  Thais  from  her  home^  attended  hy  Pythias. 


Thais,  {as  she  comes  out)  I thought  I just  now  heard  the 
Captain’s  voice.  And  look,  here  he  is.  Welcome,  my  dear 
Thraso. 

Tiira.  O my  Thais,  my  sweet  one,  how  are  you?  How 
much  do  you  love  me  in  return  for  that  music  girl? 

^ Par.  {apart)  How  polite!  What  a beginning  he  has 
made  on  meetinor  her! 

) r ® 

Thais.  Very  much,  as  you  deserve. 

Gna.  Let’s  go  to  dinner  then.  {To  Thraso.)  What  do  you 
stand  here  for? 

Par.  {apart)  Then  there’s  the  other  one:  you  would  de- 
clare that  he  was  born  for  his  belly’s  sake. 


^ IT  indeed,  she  loved  me) — Ycr.  446.  Colman  has  the  following  Note 
i^upon  this  passage:  “I  am  at  a loss  to  determine  whether  it  was  in  order 
[to  show  the  absurdity  of  the  Captain  or  from  inadvertence  in  the  Poet, 
[ that  Terence  here  makes  Thraso  and  Gnatho  speak  in  contradiction  to 
the  idea  of  Thais’s  w'onderful  veneration  for  Thraso,  with  which  they 
;)pencd  the  8ccne.” 


94 


EUNUCHUS; 


[Act  III. 


TiiiiA.  When  you  please ; I slia’n’t  delay. 

Fak.  {apavt^  I’ll  accost  them,  and  pretend  as  tliougli  I 
liad  just  come  out.  {He  comes  forivard.)  Are  you  going  any 
Avliere,  Thais  ? 

Thais.  Ha!  Farmeno;  well  done  ; going  out  for  the 

daj. 

Far.  Where  ? 

Thais,  {aside ^ pohitinrj  at  Tiiraso.)  Why!  don’t  you  see 
him  ? 

Far.  {aside.)  I see  him,  and  I’m  sorry  for  it.  {Aloud.) 
Fhmdria’s  presents  are  ready  for  you  when  you  please. 

Tiira.  {impatiently.)  Why  are  we  to  stand  here"?  Why 
don’t  we  be  off? 

Far.  {to  Tiiraso.)  Troth  now,  pray,  do  let  us,  with  your 
leav^,  present  to  her  the  things  we  intend,  and  accost  and 
speak  to  her. 

Thra.  {ironically.)  Very  fine  presents,  I suppose,  or  at  least 
equal  to  mine. 

Far.  The  fact  will  prove  itself.  {Goes  to  the  door  of  Laches’ 
house  and  calls.)  Ho  there!  bid  those  people  come  out  of 
doors  at  once,  as  I ordered. 

Enter  from  the  house  a Black  Girl. 

Far.  Do  you  step  forward  this  way.  {To  Thais.)  She  comes 
all  the  way  from  Ethiopia. 

Thra.  {contemptuously.)  Hero  are  some  three  minm  in 
value. 

Gna.  Hardly  so  much. 

Far.  Where  are  you,  Dorus  ? Step  this  way. 

Enter  Qumwa.  from  the  house,  dressed  like  the  Eunuch. 

Far.  There’s  a Eunuch  for  you — of  what  a genteel  appear- 
ance ! of  what  a prime  age ! 

Thais.  God  bless  me,  he’s  liandsome. 

Far.  What  say  you,  Gnatho?  Do  you  see  any  thing  to 
find  fault  with?  And  what  say  you,  Thraso?  {Aside.)  They 
hold  their  tongues ; they  praise  him  sufficiently  thereby.  {To 
Thais.)  Make  trial  of  him  in  literature,  try  him  in  exercises,^ 

^ 1)1  exercises) — Ver.  477.  Reference  will  be  found  made  to  the 
“ palcestrae,”  or  “places  of  exercise,”  in  the  Notes  to  the  Translation  of 
Plautus. 


Sc.  IL] 


THE  KUNUCII. 


95 


and  in  music ; I’ll  warrant  him  well  skilled  in  what  it  be- 
comes a gentleman  to  know. 

Thra.  That  Eunuch,  if  occasion  served, ^ even  in  my  sober 
senses,  I 

Ear.  And  he  who  has  sent  these  things  makes  no  request 
that  you  will  live  for  him  alone,  and  that  for  his  own  sake 
others  may  be  excluded ; he  neither  tells  of  battles  nor  shows 
his  scars,  nor  does  he  restrict  you  as  {looking  at  Thraso)  a 
certain  person  does;  but  when  it  is  not  inconvenient,  when- 
ever you  think  fit,  whenever  you  have  the  time,  he  is  satisfied 
to  be  admitted. 

Thra.  {to  Gnatho,  contemptuously,)  It  appears  that  this  is 
the  servant  of  some  beggarly,  wretched  master. 

Gna.  Why,  faith,  no  person,  I’m  quite  sure  of  that,  could 
possibly  put  up  with  him,  who  had  the  means  to  get  another. 

Far.  You  hold  your  tongue — a fellow  whom  I consider 
beneath  all  men  of  the  very  lowest  grade : for  when  you 
tan  bring  yourself  to  flatter  that  fellow  {pointing  at  Thraso), 
I do  believe  you  could  pick  your  victuals  out  of  the  very 
fiames.2 

Thra.  Are  we  to  go  now  ? 

Thais.  I’ll  take  these  in-doors  first  {pointing  to  Chorea 
and  the  Ethiopian),  and  at  the  same  time  I’ll  order  what  I 
wish;  after  that  I’ll  return  immediately.  {Goes  hito  the  house 
with  Pythias,  CiiiEREA,  and  the  Slave.) 

Thra.  {to  Gnatho.)  I shall  be  off*.  Do  you  wait  for  her. 

Par.  It  is  not  a proper  thing  for  a general  to  be  walking 
in  the  street  with  a mistress. 

Thra.  Why  should  I use  many  words  with  you?  You  are 
the  very  ape  of  your  master.  {Exit  Parmeno. 

Gna.  (laughing.)  Ha,  ha,  ha! 

^ Tf  occasion  served) — Yer.  479.  The  Aposiopesis  in  this  line  is  very 
aptly  introduced,  on  account  of  the  presence  of  the  female ; but  it  ad- 
mirably illustrates  the  abominable  turpitude  of  the  speaker,  and  perhaps 
in  a somewhat  more  decent  manner  than  that  in  which  Plautus  attrib- 
utes a similar  tendency  to  his  Braggart  Captain,  1.  1111. 

^ Out  of  the  very  flames) — Yer.  491.  This  was  a proverb  expressive 
p of  the  lowest  degree  of  meanness  and  infamy.  AVhen  they  burned  the 
bodies  of  the  dead,  it  was  the  custom  of  the  ancients  to  throw  meat  and 
various  articles  of  food  upon  the  funeral  pile,  and  it  was  considered  the 
p'eatest  possible  affront  to  tell  a person  that  he  was  capable  of  snatch- 
ing these  things  out  of  the  flames. 


96 


EUNUCHUS ; 


[Act  III.  I 


Tiika.  What  are  you  laughing  at?  I 

Gna.  At  what  you  were  mentioning  just  now  ; that  say-  j 
ing,  too,  about  the  Rhodian,  recurred  to  my  mind.  But  Thais  i 
is  coming  out. 

Thra.  You  go  before;  take  care  that  every  thing  is  ready 
at  home. 

Gna.  Very  well.  {Exit.  | 

Ue-QuUv  Thais,  with  Pvtiiias  and  Female  Attendants. 

Thais.  Take  care,  Pythias,  and  be  sure  that  if  Chremes  | 
should  happen  to  come,i  to  beg  him  to  wait;  if  that  is  not  i 
convenient,  then  to  come  again ; if  he  can  not  do  that,  bring 
him  to  me. 

Pyth.  I’ll  do  so. 

Thais.  AVell,  what  else  was  I intending  to. say?  O,  do 
you  take  particular  care  of  that  young  woman ; be  sure  that 
you  keep  at  home. 

Tiika.  Let  us  begone. 

Thais,  {to  her  attendants.)  You  follow  me.  {Exeunt  Thais 
and  Tnv.k^o,folloived  hy  the  Attendants.  Pythias  goes  into  the 
house.) 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Chremes. 

Chrem.  {to  himself.)  Why^  really,  the  more  and  more  I 
think  of  it,  I shouldn’t  be  surprised  if  this  Thais  should  be 
doing  me  some  great  mischief;  so  cunningly  do  I perceive 
mysdf  beset  by  her.  Even  on  the  occasion  when  she  first 
requested  me  to  be  fetched  to  her  (any  one  might  ask  me, 
•AYhat  business  had  you  with  her?”  Really  I don  t 
know.)  When  I came,  she  found  an  excuse  for  me  to 
remain  there;  she  said  that  she  had  been  offering  a sacri- 
rice,2  and  that  she  was  desirous  to  speak  upon  some^  im- 
portant business  with  me.  Even  then  I had  a suspicion 

^ If  Chremes  should  happen  to  come) — Ver.  513.  This  is  the  first  allu- 
sion to  the  arrangement  which  ultimately  causes  the  quarrel  between 

Thais  and  the  Captain.  , . ^ 

^ Had  been  offering  a sacrifice) — Yer.  513.  It  was  the  custom  to  sac- 
rifice before  entering  on  affairs  of  importance.  Thus,  too,  Jupiter,  m 
the  Amphitryon  of  Plautus,  1.  938,  speaks  of  offering  sacrifice  on  his 
safe  return. 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


97 


that  all  these  things  Avere  being  done  for  her  artful  purposes. 
She  takes  her  place  beside  me ; pays  every  attention  to  me ; 
seeks  an  opportunity  of  conversation.  When  the  conversation 
flagged,  she  turned  off  to  this  point — how  long  since  my 
father  and  mother  died  1 I said  that  it  was  now  a long  time 
ago.  Whether  I had  any  country-house  at  Sunium,  and  how 
far  from  the  sea?  I suppose  that  this  has  taken  her  fancy, 
and  she  expects  to  get  it  away  from  me.  Then  at  last,  wheth- 
er any  little  sister  of  mine  had  been  lost  from  there  ; whether 
any  person  was  Avith  her ; Avhat  she  had  about  her  Avhen  she 
Avas  lost ; Avhether  any  one  could  recognize  her.  Why  should 
she  make  these  inquiries?  Unless,  perhaps,  she  pretends — - 
so  great  is  her  assurance — that  she  herself  is  the  same  person 
that  was  formerly  lost  when  a little  girl.  But  if  she  is  alive, 
she  is  sixteen  years  old,  not  older ; whereas  Thais  is  somewhat 
older  than  I am.  She  has  sent  to  press  me  earnestly  to  come. 
Either  let  her  speak  out  Avhat  she  wants,  or  not  be  trouble- 
some ; I assuredly  shall  not  come  a third  time  {Iznocking  at  the 
door  of  Thais).  Ho  ! there,  ho ! there ! Is  any  one  here  ? 
It’s  I,  Chremes. 


Scene  IV. 

Enter  Pythias  the  house. 

Pyth.  O most  charming,  dear  creature ! 

Chrem.  (apart.)  I said  there  was  a design  upon  me« 

Pyth.  Thais  entreated  you  most  earnestly  to  come  again 
to-morrow. 

Chrem.  Pm  going  into  the  country. 

Pyth.  Do,  there’s  a dear  sir. 

Chrem.  I can  not,  I tell  you. 

Pyth.  Then  stay  here  at  our  house  till  she  comes  back. 
Chrem.  Nothing  less  likely. 

Pyth.  Why,  my  dear  Chremes?  {Taking  hold  of  him.) 
Chrem.  (shalcing  her  off.)  Away  to  perdition  with  you! 
Pyth.  If  you  are  so  determined  about  it,  pray  do  step  over 
to  the  place  where  she  is. 

Chrem.  I’ll  go  there. 

E 


138  EUNUCHUS ; [Act  III. 

Pytii.  {calling  at  the  door.)  HerCj  Dorias  (Dorias  enters)^ 
show  this  person  directly  to  the  Captain’s. 

{Exit  Chremes  with  Dorias,  Pythias  goes  into  the  house. 

Scene  Y. 

Enter  Antirho. 

Ant.  {to  Jwnself.)  Yesterday  some  young  fellows  of  us 
agreed  together  at  the  Piraeus  that  we  were  to  go  shares  to- 
day in  a club-entertainment.  We  gave  Chserea  charge  of  this 
matter;  our  rings  were  given^  as  pledges ; the  place  and  time 
arranged.  The  time  has  now  gone  by ; at  the  place  appoint- 
ed there  was  nothing  ready.  The  fellow  himself  is  nowhere 
to  he  met  with ; I neither  know  what  to  say  nor  what  to  sup- 
pose. Now  the  rest  have  commissioned  me  with  this  busi- 
ness, to  look  for  him.  I’ll  go  see,  therefore,  if  he’s  at  home. 
But  who’s  this,  I wonder,  coming  out  of  Thais’s  ? Is  it  he, 
or  is  it  not  ? ’Tis  the  very  man  ! What  sort  of  being  Ts 
this  % What  kind  of  garb  is  this  ? What  mischief  is  going 
on  now  ? I can  not  sufficiently  wonder  or  conjecture.  But, 
whatever  it  is,  I should  like  first  at  a distance  to  try  and  find 
out.  {He  stands  apart.) 

Scene  VI. 

Enter  CiiiEREA  from  the  house  of  Thais,  in  the  Eunuch’s 
dress. 

Ch^.  {looking  around,  then  aloud  to  himself.)  Is  there 
any  body  here  % There’s  no  one.  Is  there  any  one  following 
me  from  there'?  There’s  not  a person.  Now  am  I not  at 
liberty  to  give  vent  to  these  raptures?  O supreme  Jupiter! 

^ Our  rings  were  given) — Ver.  541.  It  was  the  custom  of  parties  who 
agreed  to  join  in  a “symbola,”  or  ‘‘club”  or  “picnic”  entertainment, 
to  give  their  rings  as  pledges  to  the  “rex  convivii,”  or  “getter  up  the 
feast.”  Stakes  were  also  deposited  on  making  bets  at  races.  See 
Ovid’s  Art  of  Love,  B.  i.,  1.  168. 


Sc.  VL] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


09 


now  assuredly  is  the  time  for  me  to  meet  my  death, ^ when  I 
can  so  well  endure  it ; lest  my  life  should  sully  this  ecstasy 
with  some  disaster.  But  is  there  now  no  inquisitive  person 
"to  be  intruding  upon  me,  to  be  following  me  wherever  I go, 
to  be  deafening  me,  worrying  me  to  death,  with  asking  ques- 
tions ; why  thus  transported,  or  why  so  overjoyed,  whither  I’m 
going,  whence  I’m  come,  where  I got  this  garb,  what  is  my 
object,  whether  I’m  in  my  senses  or  whether  downright  mad  ? 

Ant.  {aj)arU)  I’ll  accost  him,  and  I’ll  do  him  the  favor 
which  I see  he’s  wishing  for.  {Accosting  him,)  Chaerea,  why 
TirAyou  thus  transported?  What’s  the  object  of  this  garb? 
AVliy  is  it  that  you’re  so  overjoyed?  What  is  the  meaning 
of  this  ? Are  you  quite  right  in  your  senses  ? Why  do  you 
stare  at  me?  What  have  you  to  say? 

Guje.  O joyous  day ! O welcome,  my  friend  ! There’s 
not  one  in  all  the  world  whom  I would  rather  wish  to  sed%t 
this  moment  than  yourself. 

Ant.  Fray,  do  tell  me  what  all  this  means. 

Cii^.  Nay  rather,  i’ faith,  I beg  of  you  to  listen  to  me.  Do 
you  know  the  mistress  whom  my  brother  is  so  fond  of? 

Ant.  I know  her ; I suppose  you  mean  Thais  ? 

CniE.  The  very  same. 

Ant.  So  far  I recollect. 

Cii^.  To-day  a certain  damsel  was  presented  to  her.  Why 
now  should  I extol  or  commend  her  beauty  to  you,  Antipho, 
since  you  yourself  know  how  nice  a judge  of  beauty  I am? 
I have  been  smitten  by  her. 

Ant.  Do  you  say  so  ? 

CiiiE.  If  you  saw  her,  I am  sure  you  would  say  she’s  ex- 
quisite. What  need  of  many  words?  I fell  in  love  with  her. 
By  good  luck  there  was  at  our  house  a certain  Eunuch,  whom 
my  brother  had  purchased  for  Thais,  and  he  had  not  as  yet 
been  sent  to  her.  On  this  occasion,  Parmeno,  our  servant, 
made  a suggestion  to  me,  which  I adopted. 

^ To  meet  my  death) — Ver.  550.  There  is  a passage  in  the  Othello  of 
Shakspeare  extremely  similar  to  this  : 

‘Tf  I were  now  to  die, 

I were  now  to  be  most  happy ; for,  I fear, 

My  soul  hath  her  content  so  absolute, 

That  not  another  comfort,  like  to  this, 

Succeeds  in  unknown  fate.” 


100 


EUNUCHUS ; 


[Act  III. 


Ant.  What  was  it? 

Ch^.  Be  quiet,  and  you  shall  hear  the  sooner;  to  change 
clothes  with  him,  and  order  myself  to  be  taken  there  in  his 
stead. 

Ant.  What,  instead  of  the  Eunuch  ? 

Ch^.  The  fact. 

Ant.  To  receive  what  advantage,  pray,  from  this  plan? 

CiiiE.  Do  you  ask?  That  I might  see,  hear,  and  be  in 
company  with  her  whom  I loved,  Antipho.  Is  that  a slight 
motive,  or  a poor  reason  ? I was  presented  to  the  woman. 
She,  as  soon  as  she  received  me,  joyfully  took  me  home  to  her 
house  and  intrusted  the  damsel 

Ant.  To  whom  ? To  you  ? 

CiiiE.  To  me. 

Ant.  {ironically.)  In  perfect  safety,  at  all  events. 

^11^.  She  gave  orders  that  no  male  was  to  come  near  her, 
and  commanded  me  not  to  stir  away  from  her;  that  I was 
to  remain  alone  with  her  in  the  inner  apartments.^  Looking 
bashfully  on  the  ground,  I nodded  assent. 

Ant.  (ironically.)  Poor  fellow ! 

CniE.  (continuing.)  I am  going  out,”  said  she,  to  dinner.” 
She  took  her  maids  with  her ; a few  novices  of  girls^  re- 
mained, to  be  about  her.  These  immediately  made  prepara- 
tions for  her  to  bathe.  I urged  them  to  make  haste.  While 
preparations  were  being  made,  the  damsel  sat  in  a room 
looking  up  at  a certain  painting,^  in  which  was  represented 
how  Jove^  is  said  once  to  have  sent  a golden  shower  into  the 
bosom  of  Danae.  I myself  began  to  look  at  it  as  well,  and 

^ I?i  the  inner  apartments) — Yer.  579.  The  “Gynecasa,”  or  women’s 
apartments,  among  the  Greeks,  always  occupied  the  interior  part  of  the 
house,  which  was  most  distant  from  the  street,  and  there  they  were 
kept  in  great  seclusion. 

^ A few  novices  of  girls) — Yer.  582.  These  ‘‘noviciae”  were  young 
slaves  recently  bought,  and  intended  to  be  trained  to  the  calling  of  a 
Courtesan. 

^ At  a certain  painting) — Yer.  584.  See  the  story  of  Jupiter  and 
Danae,  the  daughter  of  Acrisius,  king  of  Argos,  in  the  Metamorphoses 
of  Ovid,  B.  iv.,  1.  610.  Pictures  of  Yenus  and  Adonis,  and  of  Jupiter 
and  Ganymede,  are  mentioned  in  the  Menaechmi  of  Plautus ; 1.  144, 
and  paintings  on  the  walls  are  also  mentioned  in  the  Mostellaria  of 
Plautus,  1.  821,  where  Tranio  tries  to  impose  upon  Theuropides  by  pre- 
tending to  point  out  a picture  of  a crow  between  two  vultures. 

* How  Jove) — Yer.  584.  Donatus  remarks  here  that  this  was  “ a very 


Sc.  VI.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


101 


as  he  had  in  former  times  played  the  like  game,  I felt  ex- 
tremely delighted  that  a God  should  change  himself  into  mon- 
ey, and  slily  come  through  the  tiles  of  another  person’s  house, 
to  deceive  the  fair  one  by  means  of  a shower.  But  what 
God  was  this  ? He  wlio  shakes  the  most  lofty  temples  of  heav- 
en with  his  thunders.  Was  I,  a poor  creature  of  a mortal,^ 
not  to  do  the  same  ? Certainly,  I was  to  do  it,  and  without 
hesitation.  While  I was  thinking  over  these  matters  with 
myself,  the  damsel  meantime  was  fetched  away  to  bathe ; 
she  went,  bathed,  and  came  back ; after  which  they  laid  her 
on  a couch.  I stood  waiting  to  see  if  they  gave  me  any  or- 
ders. One  came  up,  “Here,  Dorus,”  said  she,  ‘Hake  this 
fan,‘2  and  let  her  have  a little  air  in  this  fashion,  while  we 
are  bathing ; when  we  have  bathed,  if  you  like,  you  may 
bathe  too.”  With  a demure  air  I took  it. 

Ant.  Keally,  I should  very  much  have  liked  to  see  that 
impudent  face  of  yours  just  then,  and  what  figure  a great 
donkey  like  you  made,  holding  a fan  ! 

Ch^.  {continuing.)  Hardly  had  she  said  this,  when  all,  in  a 
moment,  betook  themselves  off : away  they  went  to  bathe,  and 
chattered  aloud  just  as  the  way  is  when  masters  are  absent. 
Meanwhile,  sleep  overtook  the  damsel ; I slily  looked  askance'^ 


proper  piece  of  furniture  for  the  house  of  a Courtesan,  giving  an  exam- 
ple of  loose  and  mercenary  love,  calculated  to  excite  wanton  thoughts, 
and  at  the  same  time  hinting  to  the  young  lover  that  he  must  make  his 
way  to  the  bosom  of  his  mistress,  like  Jupiter  to  Danae,  in  a shower 
of  gold.  Oh  the  avarice  of  harlots !” 

^ A poor  creature  of  a mortal) — Ver.  591.  “ Homuncio.”  He  uses 
this  word  the  better  to  contrast  his  abject  nature,  as  a poor  mortal  with 
the  majesty  of  Jupiter.  St.  Augustin  refers  to  this  passage.  The  pre- 
ceding line  is  said  by  Donatus  to  be  a parody  on  a passage  by  Ennius. 

^ Take  this  fan) — Ver.  595.  As  to  the  fans  of  the  ancients,  see  the 
Trinummus  of  Plautus,  1.  252,  and  the  Note  to  the  passage  in  Bohn’s 
Translation.  See  also  the  Amours  of  Ovid,  B.  iii.,  El.  2,  1.  38. 

^ Chattered  aloud) — Ver.  600.  This  line  bears  a strong  resemblance 
to  two  lines  found  in  Anstey’s  new  Bath  Guide  t 

“And  how  the  young  ladies  all  set  up  their  clacks, . 

Ail  the  while  an  old  woman  was  rubbing  their  backs.” 

* I slily  looked  askance) — Ver.  601.  This  way  of  looking  aside,  “li- 
mis,”  is  mentioned  in  the  Miles  Gloriosus  of  Plautus,  where  Milphi- 
dippa  tells  Acroteleutium  to  look  at  the  Captain  sideways,  ‘‘ Aspicito 
limis,”  1.  1217;  also  in  the  Bacchides,  1.  1131.  Those  familiar  with 
the  works  of  Hogarth  will  readily  call  to  mind  the  picture  of  Bedlam 


102 


EUNUCHUS; 


[Act  III.,  Sc.  VI. 


through  the  fan  this  way  (showing  how) : at  the  same  time 
I looked  round  in  all  directions,  to  see  whether  all  was  quite 
safe.  I saw  that  it  was.  I bolted  the  door. 

Ant.  What  then?  . 

Cri^.  Kh?  AVhat  then,  you  simpleton? 

Ant.  I own  I am. 

CniE.  Was  I to  let  slip  the  opportunity  offered  me,  so  ex- 
cellent, so  short-lived,^  so  longed  for,  so  unexpected.  In  that 
case,  i’faith,  I really  should  have  been  the  person  I was  pre- 
tending to  be. 

Ant.  Troth,  you  certainly  are  in  the  right ; but,  meantime, 
what  has  been  arranged  about  the  club-entertainment  ? 

Ch^.  All’s  ready. 

Ant.  You  are  a clever  hand  ; but  where?  At  your  house? 

Ch^.  No,  at  Discus’s,  our  freedman. 

Ant.  That’s  a long  way  off. 

Ch^.  Then  let’s  make  so  much  the  greater  haste. 

Ant.  Change  your  dress. 

Ch^.  Where  am  I to  change  it?  I’m  at  a loss;  for  at 
present  I’m  an  exile  from  home ; I’m  afraid  of  my  brother, 
lest  he  should  be  in-doors : and  then  again  of  my  father,  lest 
he  should  have  returned  from  the  country  by  this. 

Ant.  Let’s  go  to  my  house;  there  is  the  nearest  place  for 
you  to  change. 

Ch^.  You  say  right.  Let’s  be  off ; besides,  I want  to  take 
counsel  with  you  about  this  girl,  by  what  means  I may  be 
able  to  secure  the  future  possession  of  her. 

Ant.  Very  well.  (Exeunt, 

in  the  Rake’s  Progress,  where  the  young  woman  is  looking  askance 
through  her  fan  at  the  madman  in  his  cell. 

^Through  the  fan) — Ver.  602.  This  shows  that  the  fan  was  probably 
one  made  of  thin  boards,  and  not  of  feathers. 

^ So  short-lived) — Ver.  605.  Colman  has  the  following  Note  here : 
“ Short  indeed,  considering  the  number  of  incidents,  which,  according 
to  Chorea’s  relation,  are  crowded  into  it.  All  the  time  allowed  for  this 
adventure  is  the  short  space  between  the  departure  of  Thais  and  Thraso 
and  the  entrance  of  Chaerea;  so  that  all  this  variety  of  business  of 
sleeping,  bathing,  ravishing,  &c.,  is  dispatched  during  the  two  soliloquies 
of  Antipho  and  Chaerea,  and  the  short  Scene  between  Chremes  and 
Pythias.  The  truth  is,  that  a very  close  adherence  to  the  unities  often 
drives  the  Poet  into  as  great  absurdities  as  the  perfect  violation  of 
them.” 


Act  IV.,  Sc.  I.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


103 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Dorias,  with  a casket  in  her  hand, 

Dorias  {to  herself So  may  the  Gods  bless  me,  but  from 
what  I have  seen,  Tm  terribly  afraid  that  this  mad  fellow 
will  be  guilty  of  some  disturbance  to-day  or  of  some  violence 
to  Thais.  For  when  this  young  man,  the  brother  of  the  dam- 
sel, arrived,  she  begged  the  Captain  to  order  him  to  be  ad- 
mitted ; he  immediately  began  to  get  into  a passion,  and  yet 
didn’t  dare  refuse;  Thais  still  insisted  that  he  would  invite 
the  man  in.  This  she  did  for  the  sake  of  detaining  him  ; be- 
cause there  was  no  opportunity  just  then  of  telling  him  what 
she  wanted  to  disclose  about  her  sister.  He  was  invited  in, 
and  took  his  seat.  Then  she  entered  into  discourse  with  him. 
But  the  Captain,  fancying  it  was  a rival  brought  before  his 
very  eyes,  wanted  in  his  turn  to  mortify  her : Hark  you, 
boy,”  said  he,  go  fetch  Pamphila,  that  she  may  amuse  us 
here.”  She  exclaimed,  ‘‘At  a banquet!  Certainly  not.” 
The  Captain  still  persisted  to  a downright  quarrel.  Mean- 
while my  mistress  secretly  took  off  her  golden  jewels^^  and 
gave  them  to  me  to  take  away : this  is  a sign,  I’m  sure,  that 
she’ll  betake  herself  from  there  as  soon  as  she  possibly  can. 

{Goes  into  the  house.) 

^ Took  off  her  golden  jewels) — Ver.  627.  This  was  probably  because 
it  was  contrary  to  the  laws  of  Athens  for  a Courtesan  to  appear  with 
gold  or  jewels  in  the  street.  Madame  Dacier  suggests  another  reason, 
in  which  there  is  some  force,  although  it  is  ridiculed  by  Cooke.  Thais 
may  have  supposed  that  the  Captain,  v/hen  irritated,  might  not  have 
scrupled  to  take  them  away  from  her.  Indeed,  nothing  would  be  more 
probable,  than  that  he  would  be  ready  to  take  them  by  way  of  security 
for  the  return  of  the  slave,  whom  he  had  thus,  to  no  purpose,  presented 
to  her.  In  reference  to  the  preceding  line,  we  may  remark  that  it  was 
not  customary  among  the  Greeks  for  females  of  good  character  to  ap- 
pear at  table  with  strangers. 


104 


EUNUCHUS ; 


[Act  IV. 


Scene  II. 

Enter  Ph^dria. 

Ph^d.  {to  himself.)  AVhile  I was  going^  into  the  countr}", 
I began  on  the  road,  as  it  mostly  happens  when  there  is  any 
anxiety  on  the  mind,  to  reflect  with  myself  upon  one  thing 
after  another,  and  upon  every  thing  in  the  worst  light.  What 
need  of  words?  While  I was  musing  thus,  inadvertently  I 
passed  my  country-house.  I had  already  got  some  distance 
from  it,  when  I perceived  this ; I returned  again,  really  feel- 
ing quite  uneasy ; when  I came  to  the  very  turning  that  leads 
to  the  house,  I came  to  a stop,  and  began  to  reason  with  my- 
self; ^^What!  must  I stay  here  alone  for  two  days  without 
her?  Well,  and  what  then?  It’s  nothing  at  all.  What? 
Nothing  at  all?  Well  now,  if  I haven’t  the  privilege  of  touch- 
ing her,  am  I not  even  to  have  that  of  seeing  her  ? If  I may 
not  do  the  one,  at  least  I may  the  other.  Surely  to  love  at  a 
distance^  even,  is  better  than  nothing  at  all.”  I purposely 
passed  the  house.  But  how’s  this,  that  Pythias  is  suddenly 
hurrying  out  in  such  a fright?  {Stands  apart.) 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Pythias  and  Dorias  in  haste  from  the  house  of  Thais. 

Pytii.  {aloud.)  Where,  wretch  that  I am,  shall  I find  this 
wicked  and  impious  fellow?  Or  where  look  for  him?  That 

^ While  I was  going) — Ver.  629.  Donatus  remarks  that  here  the  Poet 
artfully  finds  a reason  to  bring  Phaedria  back  again  ; as  he  at  first  with 
equal  art  sent  him  out  of  the  way,  to  give  probability  to  those  incidents 
necessary  to  happen  in  his  absence. 

^ At  a distance) — ^Ver.  640.  “Extrema  linea.”  There  have  been 
many  suggestions  offered  for  the  origin  of  this  figurative  expression. 
Some  suggest  that  it  alludes  to  the  last  or  lowest  stage  of  the  supposed 
ladder  of  love ; others  that  it  refers  to  the  first  or  elementary  line  traced 
by  the  student,  when  beginning  to  learn  the  art  of  painting.  It  is  how- 
ever more  generally  thought  to  be  a metaphor  taken  from  the  chariot- 
races  in  the  Circus,  where,  in  going  round  the  turning-place,  he  who 
was  nearest  was  said  “currere  in  prima  linea the  next,  “in  secun- 
da  and  so  on  to  the  last,  who  took  the  widest  range,  and  was  said  to 
run  “ in  extrema  linea.” 


THE  EUNUCH. 


Sc.  HI.] 


105 


he  should  dare  to  commit  so  audacious  a crime  as  this ! I’m 


ruined  outright! 

PiiiED.  (apart)  I dread  what  this  may  he. 

Pytii.  Besides,  too,  the  villain,  after  he  had  abused  the 
girl,  rent  all  the  poor  thing’s  clothes,  and  tore  her  hair  as 
well. 

Pii^D.  (apart^  in  surprise,)  Ha! 

Py^th.  If  he  were  just  now  in  my  reach,  how  eagerly  would 
I fly  at  that  villain’s  eyes  with  my  nails ! 

PiiiED.  (apart)  Peally  I can’t  imagine  what  disturbance 
has  happened  to  us  at  home  in  my  absence.  I’ll  accost  them. 
(Going  up  to  them,)  What’s  the  matter*?  Wliy  in  such  haste? 
Or  whom  are  you  looking  for,  Pythias  ? 

Pyth.  Why,  Phaedria,  whom  should  I be  looking  for? 
Away  with  you,  as  you  deserve,  with  such  fine  presents  of 
yours. 

Ph^d.  What  is  the  matter? 

Pyth.  What,  do  you  ask?  The  Eunuch  you  gave  us, 
what  confusion  he  has  caused.  He  has  ravished  the  girl 
whom  the  Captain  made  present  of  to  my  mistress. 

Ph^bd.  What  is  it  you  say? 

Pyth.  I’m  ruined  outright ! 

pHiED.  You  are  drunk. 

Pyth.  I wish  that  they  were  so,  who  wish  ill  to  me. 

Dokias.  Oh,  prithee,  my  dear  Pythias,  what  a monstrous 
thing  this  is  ! 


PiiiED.  You  arc  out  of  your  senses.  How  could  a Eunuch 
possibly  do  this? 

Pyth.  I know  nothing  about  him : as  to  what  he  has  done, 
the  thing  speaks  for  itself.  The  girl  is  in  tears ; and  when 
you  ask  her  what’s  the  matter,  she  does  not  dare  tell.  But 
he,  a precious  fellow,  is  nowhere  to  be  seen.  To  my  sorrow 
I suspect  too,  that  when  he  took  himself  off  he  carried  some- 
thing away  from  the  house. 

Ph^ed.  I can  not  enough  wonder,  whither  this  varlet  can 
possibly  have  betaken  himself  to  any  distance  from  here ; un 
less  perhaps  he  has  returned  home  to  our  house. 

Pyth.  Pray,  go  and  see  whether  he  is  there. 

Ph^d.  I’ll  let  you  know  immediately.  (Goes  into  the  hous 
of  Laches.) 

E 2 


lOG  EUNUCHUS ; [Act  IV. 

Dorias.  Ruined  outright ! Prithee,  my  dear,  I never  did 
so  much  as  hear  of  a deed  so  abominable ! 

Pyth.  W^y?  faith,  I had  heard  that  they  were  extremely 
fond  of  the  women,  but  were  incapable  ; unfortunately  what 
has  happened  never  came  into  my  mind ; otherwise  I should 
have  shut  him  up  somewhere,  and  not  have  intrusted  the  girl 
to  him. 


Scene  TV. 

Enter  Ph^dria  from  the  house  of  Laches,  with  Dorus.  in 
Chorea’s  clothes. 

Ph^d.  {dragging  him  out.)  Come  out,  you  villain ! What, 
do  you  lag  behind,  you  runaway?  Out  with  you,  you  sorry 
bargain ! 

Dorus  {crying  out.)  Mercy,  I do  entreat  you ! 

PiiyED.  Oh,  do  look  at  that ! Plow  the  villain  distorts  his 
face.  What  means  your  coming  back  hither?  Why  this 
change  of  dress?  What  have  you  to  say?  If  I had  delayed 
a moment,  Pythias,  I shouldn’t  have  found  him  at  home:  he 
had  just  prepared,  in  this  fashion,  for  flight.  {Pointing  at  his 
dress.) 

l^YTH.  Have  you  caught  the  fellow,  pray? 

Ph^d.  Caught  him,  why  not  ? 

Pyth.  O well  done ! 

Dorias.  Upon  my  faith  that  really  is  capital ! 

l^YTH.  Where  is  he  ? 

PiiiED.  Do  you  ask  the  question  ? Don’t  you  see  him  ? 
{Pointing  to  the  Eunuch.) 

Pytii.  {starmg  about.)  See  whom,  pray  ? 

PiiiED.  This  fellow,  to  be  sjire  {pointing). 

Pyth.  What  person  is  this? 

Ph^d.  The  same  that  was  brought  to  your  house  to-day. 

Pyth.  Not  one  of  our  people  has  ever  beheld  this  person 
with  her  eyes,  Phasdria. 

Ph^d.  Not  beheld  him  ? 

Pyth.  Prithee,  did  you  fancy  that  this  was  he  who  was 
rought  to  our  house? 

Ph^d.  Why,  I had  no  other. 


So.  IV.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


107 


Pith.  O dear!  this  one  really  isn’t  to  be  compared  with 
the  other.  He  was  of  a handsome  and  genteel  appear- 
ance. 

Ph^d.  He  seemed  so,  just  then,  because  he  was  decked  out 
in  party-colored  clothes:^  now  he  appears  ugly,  for  this  rea- 
son— because  he  hasn’t  got  them  on. 

Pyth.  Prithee,  do  hold  your  tongue  ; as  though  indeed  the 
difference  was  so  trifling.  A young  man  was  brought  to  our 
house  to-day,  whom,  really,  Phsedria,  you  would  have  liked 
to  look  upon.  This  is  a withered,  antiquated,  lethargic,  old 
fellow,  with  a speckled  complexion.^ 

Pii^D.  {starting,)  Hah!  What  tale  is  this?  You’ll  so  be- 
fool me  that  I sha’n’t  know  what  I bought.  {To  Donus.) 
How  now,  sirrah,  did  I not  buy  you? 

Dorus.  You  did  buy  me, 

Pyth.  Bid  him  answer  me  in  my  turn. 

Ph^d.  Question  him. 

Pyth.  {to  Dorus.)  Did  you  come  here  to-day  to  our  house? 
(Dorus  shakes  his  head.)  He  says,  no.  But  it  was  the  other 
one  that  came,  about  sixteen  years  of  age ; whom  Parmeno 
brought  with  him. 

Ph^d.  {to  Dorus.)  Well  now,  in  the  first  place  tell  me 
this,  where  did  you  get  that  dress  that  you  have  on  ? What, 
are  you  silent?  Monster  of  a fellow,  are  you  not  going  to 
speak  ? {Shakes  him.) 

Dorus.  Chserea  came. 

Ph^d.  What,  my  brother  ? 

Dorus.  Yes. 

Ph^d.  When? 

Dorus.  To-day. 

Ph^d.  How  long  since  ? 

Dorus.  Just  now. 

Ph^d.  With  whom  ? 

Dorus.  With  Parmeno. 

* In  party-colored  clothes) — Ver.  683.  It  was  the  custom  to  dress 
Eunuchs  in  party-colored  clothes  of  bright  hue.  Most  probably  it  was 
from  them  that  the  “ motley”  descended  to  the  fools  and  buffoons  of  the 
Middle  Ages. 

^ With  a speckled  complexion) — Ver.  689.  “ Colore  stellionino 
probably  having  spots  or  freckles  on  his  face  like  a “stellio”  or 
“ lizard.” 


[Act  IV. 


108  EUNUCHUS; 

Ph^d.  Did  you  know  him  before  ? 

Dorus.  No. 

PiMD.  How  did  you  know  lie  was  my  brother  ? 

Dorus.  Parmeno  said  he  was.  He  gave  me  these  clothes. 

PiiiiiD.  Pm  undone  ! 

Dorus.  He  himself  put  on  mine ; afterward,  they  both 
went  out  together. 

Pytii.  Now  are  you  quite  satisfied  that  I am  sober,  and 
that  we  have  told  you  no  falsehood?  Is  it  now  sufficiently 
evident  that  the  girl  has  been  ravished  ? 

TiijEV.  Avaunt,  you  beast,  do  you  believe  what  he  says?  ^ 

Pytii.  What  is  there  to  believe?  The  thing  speaks  for 
itself. 

Pii^D.  {apart  to  Dorus.)  Step, aside  a little  this  way.  Do 
you  hear?  (Dorus  step)s  aside.)  A little  further  still.  That 
will  do.  Now  tell  me  this  once  more  ; did  Chaerea  take  your 
clothes  off  you  ? 

Dorus.  He  did. 

Ph^d,  And  did  he  put  them  on  ? 

Dorus.  He  did. 

PHiED.  And  was  he  brought  here  instead  of  you  ? 

Dorus.  Yes. 

Ph^d.  Great  Jupiter!  O wicked  and  audacious  fellow! 

Pyth.  Woe  unto  me!  Now  at  last  will  you  believe  that 
we  have  been  insulted  in  a disgraceful  manner  ? 

PiiiED.  It  is  no  wonder  that  you  believe  what  the  fellow 
says.  (Aside.)  What  I’m  to  do  I know  not.  (Aside  to  Do- 
rus.) Hark  you,  deny  it  all  again.  (Aloud.)  Can  I not  this 
day  extract  the  truth  from  you  ? Did  you  really  see  my  broth- 
er Chasrea? 

Dorus.  No. 

Phjld.  He  can’t  be  brought  to  confess  without  being  pun- 
ished, I see : follow  me  this  way.  At  one  moment  he  affirms, 
gt  another  denies.  (Aside.)  Ask  pardon  of  me. 
j Dorus.  Indeed,  I do  entreat  you,  Phaedria. 

! Ph^d.  (kicMng  him.)  Be  off  in-doors.  • 

' Dorus.  Oh ! oh ! 

Ph^d.  (aside.)  How  in  any  other  fashion  to  get  decently  4 
out  of  this  I don’t  knov/;  for  really  it’s  all  up  ivith  me.^^ 
(Aloudj  with  pretended  indignation.)  Will  you  be  trifling  with 
me  even  here,  you  knave?  {Follows  Dorus  into  the  house.) 


Sc.  VL] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


109 


Scene  V. 

Pythias  and  Dorias. 

Pyth.  I’m  as  certain  that  this  is  the  contrivance  of  Parmc- 
no  as  that  I’m  alive. 

Dorias.  So  it  is,  no  doubt. 

Pyth.  Pfaith,  I’ll  find  out  a method  to-day  to  be  even 
with  him.  But  now,  what  do  you  think  ou^ht  to  be  done 
Dorias? 

Dorias.  Do  you  mean  with  regard  to  this  girl  ? 

Pyth.  Yes ; whether  I ought  to  mention  it  or  be  silent  ? 

Dorias.  Upon  my  word,  if  you  are  prudent,  you  won’t 
know  what  you  do  know,  either  about  the  Eunuch  or  the  girl’s 
misfortune.  By  this  method  you’ll  both  rid  yourself  of  all 
perplexity,  and  have  done  a service  to  her.^  Say  this  only, 
that  Dorus  has  run  away. 

Pyth.  I’ll  do  so. 

Dorias.  But  don’t  I see  Chremes?  Thais  will  be  here 
just  now. 

- Pyth.  Why  so? 

Dorias,  Because  when  I came  away  from  there,  a quarrel 
had  just  commenced  between  them. 

^ Pyth.  Take  in  these  golden  trinkets ; I shall  learn  from 
•"him  what’s  the  matter.  (Dorias  takes  the  casket  into  the 
house.) 


Scene  VI. 

Enter  Chremes,  somewhat  drunk. 

CiiREM.  Heyday ! upon  my  faith,  I’ve  been  bamboozled : 
the  wine  that  I’ve  drunk  has  got  the  upper  hand.  But,  so 
long  as  I was  reclining,  how  extremely  sober  I did  seem  to 
myself  to  be;  when  I got  up,  neither  feet  nor  senses  were 
quite  equal  to  their  duty. 

Pyth.  Chremes ! 

^ 5emce  to  /«er)— Ver.  722.  Though  some  would  have 
1111  here  to  refer  to  the  damsel,  and  others  again  to  Phaedria,  it  if? 
pietty  clear  that  Madame  Dacier  is  right  in  suggesting  that  Thais  i-j 
the  person  meant. 


110 


EUNUCHUS; 


[Act  IV. 


Chrem.  {turning  round.)  Who’s  that  ? What,  Pythias  ; 
dear  me,  how  much  more  charming  you  now  seem  to  me  than 
a short  time  since ! 

Pyth.  Troth  now,  you  are  much  more  merry,  that’s  cer- 
tain. 

■ Chrem.  Upon  my  faith,  it  is  a true  saying,  that  ‘Wenus 
grows  cold  without  Ceres  and  Bacchus.”  But  has  Thais  got 
here  long  before  me  ? 

Pyth.  Has  she  already  come  away  from  the  Captain’s 

Chrem.  A long  time  ago ; an  age  since.  There  has  been 
a most  violent  quarrel  between  them. 

Pyth.  Did  she  say  nothing  about  you  following  her  ? 

Chrem.  Nothing  at  all ; only,  on  going  away,  she  gave 
me  a nod. 

Pyth.  Well  now,  wasn’t  that  enough? 

Chrem.  Why,  I didn’t  know  that  she  meant  that,  until 
the  Captain  gave  me  an  explanation,  because  I was  dull  of 
comprehension  ; for  he  bundled  me  out  of  the  house.  But 
look,  here  she  is;  I wonder  how  it  was  I got  here  before 
her. 


Scene  VIL 
Enter  Thais. 

Thais,  {to  herself.)  I really  do  believe  that  he’ll  be  here 
presently,  to  force  her  away  from  me.  Let  him  come ; but  if 
he  touches  her  with  a single  finger,  that  instant  his  eyes  shall 
be  torn  out.  I can  put  up  with  his  impertinences  and  his 
high-sounding  words,  as  long  as  they  remain  words:  but  if 
they  are  turned  into  realities,  he  shall  get  a drubbing. 

Chrem.  Thais,  I’ve  been  here  some  time. 

Thais.  O my  dear  Chremes,  you  are  the  very  person  I was 
wanting.  Are  you  aware  that  this  quarrel  took  place  on 
your  account,  and  that  the  whole  of  this  affair,  in  fact,  bore 
reference  to  yourself? 

Chrem.  To  me?  How  so,  pray? 

Thais.  Because,  while  I’ve  been  doing  my  best  to  recover 
and  restore  your  sister  to  you,  this  and  a great  deal  more  like 
it  I’ve  had  to  put  up  .with. 

Chrem.  Where  is  she? 

Thais.  At  home,  at  my  house. 


Sc.  VIL] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


Ill 


Chrem.  (starling.)  Hah! 

Thais.  What’s  the  matter?  She  has  been  brought  up  in  a 
manner  worthy  of  yourself  and  of  her. 

Chrem.  What  is  it  you  say? 

Thais.  That  which  is  the  fact.  Her  I present  to  you,  nor 
do  I ask  of  you  any  return  for  her. 

Chrem.  Thanks  are  both  felt  and  shall  be  returned  in  such 
way,  Thais,  as  you  deserve. 

Thais.  But  still,  take  care,  Chremes,  that  you  don’t  lose 
her,  before  you  receive  her  from  me ; for  it  is  she,  whom  the 
Captain  is  now  coming  to  take  away  from  me  by  force.  Do 
you  go,  Pythias,  and  bring  out  of  the  house  the  casket  with 
the  tokens.^ 

Chrem.  (looking  down  the  side  Scene.)  Don’t  you  see  him, 
Thais? 

Pyth.  (to  Thais.)  Where  is  it  put? 

Thais.  In  the  clothes’  chest.  Tiresome  creature^  why  do 
you  delay?  (Pythias  goes  into  the  house.) 

Chre3I.  What  a large  body  of  troops  the  Captain  is  bring- 
ing with  him  against  you.  Bless  me  ! 

Thais.  Prithee,  are  you  frightened,  my  dear  sir? 

Chrem.  Get  out  with  you.  What,  I frightened  ? There’s 
not  a man  alive  less  so. 

Thais.  Then  now  is  the  time  to  prove  it. 

Chrem.  Why,  I wonder  what  sort  of  a man  .you  take  me 
to  be. 

Thais.  Nay,  and  consider  this  too;  the  person  that  you 
have  to  deal  with  is  a foreigner;”^  of  less  influence  than  yon, 
less  known,  and  one  that  has  fewer  friends  here. 

Chrem.  I’m  aware  of  that;  but  it’s  foolish  to  run  the  risk 
of  what  you  are  able  to  avoid.  I had  rather  we  should  pre- 
vent it,  than,  having  received  an  injury,  avenge  ourselves 

^ Casket  with  the  tokens) — Yer.  752.  It  was  the  custom  with  the 
ancients  when  they  exposed  their  children,  to  leave  with  them  some 
pledge  or  token  of  value,  that  they  might  afterward  be  recognized  by 
means  of  them.  The  catastrophes  of  the  Curculio,  the  Rudens,  and 
other  Plays  of  Plautus,  are  brought  about  by  taking  advantage  of  this 
circumstance.  The  reasons  for  using  these  tokens  will  be  stated  in  a 
future  Note. 

Is  a foreigner) — Yer.  758.  And  therefore  the  more  unlikely  to  ob- 
tain redress  from  an  Athenian  tribunal.  See  the  Andria,  1.  811,  and 
the  Note  to  the  passage. 


112 


EUNUCHUS; 


[Act  IV. 


upon  him.  Do  you  go  in  and  fasten  the  door,  while  I run 
across  hence  to  the  Forum;  I should  like  us  to  have  the 
aid  of  some  legal  adviser  in  this  disturbance.  {Moves^  as  if 
going.) 

Thais,  {holding  him.)  Stay. 

Chrem.  Let  me  go,  I’ll  be  hiere  presently. 

Thais.  There’s  no  occasion,  Chremes.  Only  say  that  she 
is  your  sister,  and  that  you  lost  her  when  a little  girl,  and  have 
now  recognized  her  ; then  show  the  tokens. 

Re-enter'  from  the  Jtouse^  with  the  trinkets. 

Pyth.  {giving  them  to  Thais.)  Here  they  are. 

Thais,  {giving  them  to  Take  them.  If  he  offers 

any  violence,  summon  the  fellow  to  justice ; do  you  under- 
stand me? 

Chrem.  Perfectly. 

Thais.  Take  care  and  say  this  with  presence  of  mind. 

Chrem.  I’ll  take  care. 

Thais.  Gather  up  your  cloak.  {Aside.)  Undone ! the  very 
person  whom  I’ve  provided  as  a champion,  wants  one  himself. 
{They  all  go  into  the  house.) 

Scene  VIII. 

Enter  Thraso,  followed  hy  Gnatho,  Sang  a,  and  other 
Attendants. 

Thra.  Am  I to  submit,  Gnatho,  to  such  a glaring  affront 
as  this  being  put  upon  me?  I’d  die  sooner.  Simalio,  Donax, 
Syriscus,  follow  me ! First,  I’ll  storm  the  house. 

Gna.  Quite  right. 

Thra.  I’ll  carry  off  the  girl. 

Gna.  Very  good. 

Thra.  I’ll  give  her  own  self  a mauling. 

Gna.  Very  proper. 

Thra.  {arranging  the  men.)  Advance  hither  to  the  main 
body,  Donax,  with  your  crowbar;  you,  Simalio,  to  the  left 
wing;  you,  Syriscus,  to  the  right.  Bring  up  the  rest;  where’s 
the  centurion  Sanga,  and  his  maniple^  of  rogues? 

* And  his  maniple) — Ver.  775.  We  learn  from  the  Fasti  of  Ovid, 
B.  iii.,  1.  117-8,  that  in  early  times  the  Roman  armies  carried  bundles 
or  wisps  of  hay  upon  poles  by  way  of  standards.  “ A long  pole  used  to 


Sc.  VIII.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


113 


San.  {coming  forward,)  See,  here  he  is. 

‘Thra.  What,  you  booby,  do  you  think  of  fighting  with  a 
dish-clout,  1 to  be  bringing  that  here? 

San.  What,  I ? I knew  the  valor  of  the  general,  and  the 
prowess  of  the  soldiers ; and  that  this  could  not  possibly  go  on 
without  bloodshed;  how  was  I to  wipe  the  wounds? 

Thra.  Where  are  the  others? 

San.  Plague  on  you,  what  others  ? Sannio  is  the  only  one 
left  on  guard  at  home. 

Thra.  {to  Gnatho.)  Do  you  draw  up  your  men  in  battle 
order ; I’ll  be  behind  the  second  rank  from  that  position 
I’ll  give  the  word  to  all.  {Takes  his  place  behind  the  second 
rank.) 

Gna.  {aside.)  That’s  showing  prudence ; as  soon  as  he  has 
drawn  them  up,  he  secures  a retreat  for  himself 

Thra.  {pointing  to  the  arrangements.)  This  is  just  the  way 
Pyrrhus  used  to  proceed.^ 

CiiREMES  and  Thais  appear  above  at  a ivindoiv. 

CiiREM.  Do  you  see,  Thais,  what  plan  he  is  upon?  As- 

bcar  the  elevated  wisps,  from  which  circumstance  the  manipular  soldier 
derives  his  name.”  It  appears  from  this  passage,  and  from  other  au- 
thors, that  to  every  troop  of  one  hundred  men  a ‘‘manipulus”  or  wisp 
of  hay  (so  called  from  “ manum  implere,”  to  “ fill  the  hand,”  as  being 
“ a handful”),  was  assigned  as  a standard,  and  hence  in  time  the  com- 
pany itself  obtained  the  name  of  “ manipulus,”  and  the  soldier,  a mem- 
ber of  it,  was  called  manipularis.”  The  ‘‘centurio,”  or  “leader  of  a 
hundred,”  was  the  commanding  officer  of  the  “manipulus.” 

* With  a dish-clout) — Yer.  776.  “ Peniculo.”  This  W’ord  meant  a 
sponge  fastened  to  a stick,  or  the  tail  of  a fox  or  an  ox,  which  was  used 
as  dusters  or  dish-clouts  are  at  the  present  day  for  cleaning  tables,  dish- 
es, or  even  shoes.  See  the  Menaechmi  of  Plautus,  ver.  77  and  391. 

2 Be  behind  the  second  rank) — Ver.  780.  “ Post  principia.”  The  Cap- 
tain, with  that  discretion  which  is  the  better  part  of  valor,  chooses  the 
safest  place  in  his  army.  The  “principes”  originally  fought  in  the  van, 
fronting  the  enemy,  and  behind  them  were  the  “hastati”  and  the 
“triarii.”  In  later  times  the  “hastati”  faced  the  enemy,  and  the 
“ principes”  were  placed  in  the  middle,  between  them  and  the  “ triarii 
but  though  no  longer  occupying  the  front  place,  they  still  retained  the 
name.  Thraso,  then,  places  himself  behind  the  middle  line. 

3 Pyrrhus  used  to  proceed) — Ver.  782.  He  attempts  to  defend  his 
cowardice  by  the  example  of  Pyrrhus,  the  powerful  antagonist  of  the 
Romans,  and  one  of  the  greatest  generals  of  antiquity.  He  might  have 
more  correctly  cited  the  example  of  Xerxes,  who,  according  to  Justin, 
did  occupy  that  position  in  his  army. 


EUNUCHUS ; 


114 


[Act  IV. 


SLiredly,  that  advice  of  mine  about  closing  the  door  was 
good. 

Thais.  He  who  now  seems  to  you  to  be  a hero,  is  in  real- 
ity a mere  vaporer ; don’t  be  alarmed. 

Thra.  {to  Gnatho.)  What  seems  best  to  you  ? 

Gna.  I could  very  much^  like  a sling  to  be  given  you  just 
now,  that  you  might  pelt  them  from  here  on  the  sly  at  a dis- 
tance ; they  would  be  taking  to  flight. 

Thra.  {to  Gnatho.)  But  look  {pointing)^  I see  Thais  there 
herself. 

Gna.  How  soon  are  we  to  fall  to  ? 

Thra.  Hold  {holding  him  hack)-,  it  behooves  a prudent 
person  to  make  trial  of  every  thing  before  arms.  How  do 
you  know  but  that  she  may  do  what  I bid  her  without  com- 
pulsion 

Gna.  Ye  Gods,  by  our  trust  in  you,  what  a thing  it  is  to 
be  wise ! I never  come  near  you  but  what  I go  away  from 
you  the  wiser. 

Thra.  Thais,  in  the  first  place,  answer  me  this.  When  I 
presented  you  that  girl,  did  you  not  say  that  you  would  give 
yourself  up  to  me  alone  for  some  days  to  come  % 

Thais.  Well,  what  then? 

Thra.  Do  you  ask  the  question?  You,  who  have  been 
and  brought  your  lover  under  my  very  eyes  ? What  business 
had  you  with  him  ? With  him,  too,  you  clandestinely  betook 
yourself  away  from  me. 

Thais.  I chose  to  do  so, 

Thra.  Then  give  me  back  Pamphila ; unless  you  had  rather 
she  were  taken  away  by  force. 

Chrem.  Give  her  back  to  you,  or  you  lay  hands  upon  her? 
Of  all  the 

Gna.  Ha ! What  are  you  about  ? Hold  your  tongue. 

Thra.  What  do  you  mean  ? Am  I not  to  touch  my  own  ? 

Chrem.  Your  own,  indeed,  you  gallows-bird 


^ I could  very  mucli) — Ver.  785.  Although  Vollbehr  gives  these  words 
to  Gnatho,  yet,  judging  from  the  context,  and  the  words  “ ex  occulto,” 
and  remembering  that  Thais  and  Chremes  are  up  at  the  window,  there 
is  the  greatest  probability  that  these  are  really  the  words  of  Thais  ad- 
dressed aside  to  Chremes. 

^ You  gallows-bird') — Ver.  797.  “Furcifer;”  literally,  “bearer  of  the 
furca.” 


So.  VIIL] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


115 


Gna.  [to  Chremes.)  Have  a care,  if  you  please.  You  don’t 
know  what  kind  of  man  you  are  abusing  now. 

Chrem.  [to  Gnatho.)  Won’t  you  be  off  from  here?  Do 
you  know  how  matters  stand  with  you?  If  you  cause  any 
disturbance  here  to-day.  I’ll  make  you  remember  the  place, 
and  day,  and  me  too,  for  the  rest  of  your  life. 

Gna.  I pity  you,  who  are  making  so  great  a man  as  this 
your  enemy. 

Chrem.  I’ll  break  your  head  this  instant  if  you  are  not  off. 

Gna.  Do  you  really  say  so,  puppy  ? Is  it  that  you  are  at? 

Thra.  [to  Chremes.)  What  fellow  are  you  ? What  do  you 
mean  ? What  business  have  you  with  her  ? 

Chrem.  I’ll  let  you  know’ : in  the  first  place,  I assert  that 
she  is  a freeborn  woman. 

Thra.  [starting.)  Ha! 

Chrem.  A citizen  of  Attica. 

Thra.  Whew! 

Chrem.  My  own  sister. 

Thra.  Brazen  face ! 

Chrem.  Now,  therefore,  Captain,  I give  you  warning; 
don’t  you  use  any  violence  toward  her.  Thais,  I’m  going  to 
Sophrona,  the  nurse,  that  I may  bring  her  here  and  show  her 
these  tokens. 

Thra.  What!  Are  you  to  prevent  me  from  touching 
what’s  my  own  ? 

Chrem.  I will  prevent  it,  I tell  you. 

Gna.  [to  Thraso.)  Do  you  hear  him?  He  is  convicting 
himself  of  theft.  Is  not  that  enough  for  you  ? 

Thra.  Do  you  say  the  same,  Thais? 

Thais.  Go,  find  some  one  to  answer  you.  [She  and 
Chremes  go  away  from  the  ivindow.) 

Thra.  [to  Gnathc).)  What  are  we  to  do  now? 

Gna.  Why,  go  back  again  : she’ll  soon  be  with  you,  of  her 
own  accord,  to  entreat  forgiveness. 

Thra.  Do  you  think  so  ? 

Gna.  Certainly,  yes.  I know'’  the  disposition  of  women: 
when  you  will,  they  won’t ; when  you  w’on’t,  they  set  their 
hearts  upon  you  of  their  own  inclination. 

Thra.  You  judge  right. 

Gna.  Shall  I dismiss  the  army  then  ? 

Thra.  Whenever  you  like. 


116  EUNUCHUS ; [Act  V. 

Gna.  Sanga,  as  befits  gallant  soldiers,^  take  care  in  your 
turn  to  remember  your  homes  and  hearths. 

San.  My  thoughts  have  been  for  some  time  among  the 
sauce-pans. 

Gna.  You  are  a worthy  fellow. 

Tura.  {putting  himself  at  their  head.)  You  follow  me  this 
way.  {Exeunt  omnes.  ‘ 


ACT  TPIE  FIFTPI. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Thais  from  her  house,  followed  hy  Pythias. 

Thais.  What!  do  you  persist,  hussy,  in  talking  ambigu- 
ously to  me?  do  know;”  “I  don’t  know;”  ^^he  has 
gone  off;”  have  heard;”  “I  wasn’t  there.”  Don’t  you 
mean  to  tell  me  plainly,  whatever  it  is?  The  girl  in  tears, 
with  her  garments  torn,  is  mute ; the  Eunuch  is  off : for  what 
reason  ? What  has  happened?  Won’t  you  speak? 

Pyth.  Wretch  that  I am,  what  am  I to  say  to  you? 
They  declare  that  he  was  not  a Eunuch. 

Thais.  What  was  he  then  ? 

Pyth.  That  Chserea. 

Thais.  What  Chserea? 

Pyth.  That  stripling,  the  brother  of  Phaedria. 

Thais.  What’s  that  you  say,  you  hag  ? 

Pyth.  And  I am  satisfied  of  it. 

Thais.  Pray,  what  business  had  he  at  my  house?  What 
brought  him  there  ? 

Pyth.  I don’t  know ; unless,  as  I suppose,  he  was  in  love 
with  Pam  phi  I a. 

Thais.  Alas ! to  my  confusion,  unhappy  woman  that  I am. 
I’m  undone,  if  what  you  tell  me  is  true.  Is  it  about  this  that 
the  girl  is  crying? 

Pyth.  I believe  so. 

1 As  hefts  gallant  soldiers) — Ver.  814.  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  not 
improbably  had  this  scene  in  view  in  their  picture  of  the  mob  regiment 
in  Fhilaster.  The  ragged  regiment  which  Shakspeare  places  under  the 
command  of  Falstaff  was  not  very  unlike  it,  nor  that  which  owned  the 
valiant  Bombastes  Furioso  as  its  Captain. 


Sc.  II.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


117 


Thais.  How  say  you,  you  arch-jade  1 Did  I not  warn 
you  about  this  very  thing,  wlien  I was  going  away  from 
here  ? o ^ 

Pyth.  What  could  I do?  Just  as  you  ordered,  she  was 
intrusted  to  his  care  only. 

^ Thais.  Hussy,  Tve  been  intrusting  the  sheep  to  the  wolf. 
I’m  quite  ashamed  to  have  been  imposed  upon  in  this  way. 
What  sort  of  man  was  he  ? 

Pyth.  Hush ! hush ! mistress,  pray;  we  are  all  right.  Here 
we  have  the  very  man. 

Thais.  Where  is  he? 

Pyth.  Why  there,  to  the  left.  Don’t  you  see  ? 

Thais.  I see. 

Pyth.  Order  him  to  be  seized  as  quickly  as  possible. 

Thais.  What  can  we  do  to  him,  simpleton  ? 

, . you  ask?  Pray,  do  look  at 

'him ; il  his  face  doesn’t  seem  an  impudent  one. 

Thais.  Not  at  all. 

^ Pyth.  Besides,  what  effrontery  he  has. 


Scene  H, 

Enter  Chaseea,  in  the  Eunuch’s  dress,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  stage. 

Cum,  {to  himself,)  At  Antipho’s,^  both  of  them,  father  and 
hiother,  just  as  if  on  purpose,  were  at  home,  so  that  I couldn’t 
any  way  get  in,  but  that  they  must  have  seen  me.  In  the 
mean  time,  while  I was  standing  before  the  door,  a certain 
acquaintance  of  mine  was  coming  full  upon  me.  When  I 
espied  him,  I took  to  my  heels  as  fast  as  I could  down  a 
narrow  unfrequented  alley;  thence  again  to  another,  and 
thence  to  another;  thus  have  I been  most  dreadfully  harassed 
wi  running  about,  that  no  one  might  recognize  me.  But 

^ at  a stand. 

What  shall  I do?  But  what  need  I care ? What  can  she  do 
to  me  ? 

Ver.  839.  Madame  Dacier  here  observes  tliat  Chterea 
the  art  uateral  reasons  for  not  having  changed  his  dress  ; in  which 
sohnelv  !e  oft’’®  Ptay  makes  it  ab- 

habit  which  tkat  Chgerea  should  appear  again  before  Thais  in  the 
naDit  which  he  wore  while  in  the  house. 


118 


EUNUCHUS ; 


[Act  V. 


Tjiais.  {to  Pythias.)  Let’s  accost  him.  {To  CniEREA.) 
Good  Mister  Dorus,  welcome ; teii  me,  have  you  been  run- 
ning away? 

CiiiE.  Madam,  I did  so. 

Thais.  Are  you  quite  pleased  with  it? 

Ch^.  No. 

Thais.  Do  you  fancy  that  you’ll  get  off  with  impunity  ? 

Ch^.  Forgive  this  one  fault ; if  I’m  ever  guilty  of  another, 
then  kill  me. 

Thais.  Were  you  in  fear  of  my  severity  ? 

Ch^.  No. 

Thais.  No  ? What  then  ? 

Ch^.  {pointing  at  Pythias.)  I w^as  afraid  of  her,  lest  she 
might  be  accusing  me  to  you. 

Thais.  What  had  you  done  ? 

Ch^.  a mere  trifle. 

Pyth.  Come  now,  a trifle,  you  impudent  fellow.  Does  this 
appear  a trifle  to  you,  to  ravish  a virgin,  a citizen? 

Ch^.  I took  her  for  my  fellow-servant. 

Pyth.  Fellow-servant  ? I can  hardly  restrain  myself  from 
flying  at  his  hair.  A miscreant ! Even  of  his  own  free  will 
he  comes. to  make  fun  of  us. 

Thais,  {to  Pythias.)  Won’t  you  begone  from  here,  you 
mad  woman  ? 

Pyth.  Why  so  ? Really,  I do  believe  I should  be  some- 
thing in  this  hang-dog’s  debt,  if  I were  to  do  so ; especially  as 
he  owns  that  he  is  your  servant. 

Thais.  We’ll  pass  that  by.  Chserea,  you  have  behaved 
unworthily  of  yourself ; for  if  I am  deserving  in  the  highest 
degree  of  this  affront,  still  it  is  unbecoming  of  you  to  be 
guilty  of  it.  And,  upon  my  faith,  I do  not  know  what 
method  now  to  adopt  about  this  girl : you  have  so  confound- 
ed all  my  plans,  that  I can  not  possibly  return  her  to  her 
friends  in  such  a manner  as  is  befitting  and  as  I had  intend- 
ed; in  order  that,  by  this  means,  I might,  Cha0rea,  do  a real 
service  to  myself 

Ch^.  But  now,  from  henceforth,  I hope,  Thais,  that  there 
will  be  lasting  good-will  between  us.  Many  a time,  from 
some  affair  of  this  kind  and  from  a bad  beginning,  great 
friendships  have  sprung  up.  What  if  some  Divinity  has 
willed  this? 


Sc.  II.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


119 


Thais.  Pfaitli,  for  my  own  part  I both  take  it  in  that  view 
and  wish  to  do  so. 

Cum.  lies,  prithee,  do  so.  Be  sure  of  this  one  thing,  that 
I did  not  do  it  for  the  sake  of  affronting  you,  but  in  conse- 
quence of  passion. 

Thais.  I understand,  and,  ffaith,  for  that  reason  do  I now 
the  more  readily  forgive  you.  I am  not.  Chorea,  of  a dis- 
position so  ungentle,  or  so  inexperienced,  as  not  to  know  what 
is  the  power  of  love. 

Ch^.  So  may  the  Deities  kindly  bless  me,  Thais ; I am 
now  smitten  with  you  as  well. 

Pyth.  Then,  i’faith,  mistress,  I foresee  you  must  have  a 
care  of  him. 

Ch^.  I would  not  dare 

Pyth.  I won’t  trust  you  at  all  in  any  thing. 

Thais,  (to  Pythias.)  Do  have  done. 

,,  Now  I entreat  you  that  you  will  be  my  assistant  in 

niis  affair.  I intrust  and  commit  myself  to  your  care  ; I take 
you,  Thais,  as  my  protectress ; I implore  you ; I shall  die  if  I 
don’t  have  her  for  my  wife. 

Thais.  But  if  your  father  should  say  any  thing 

Ch^.  Oh,  he’ll  consent,  I’m  quite  sure  of  that,  if  she  is 
only  a citizen. 

Thais.  If  you  will  wait  a little,  the  brother  himself  of 
the  young  w^oman  will  be.  here  presently;  he  has  gone  to 
fetch  the  nurse,  who  brought  her  up  when  a little  child ; 
you  yourself,  shall  be  present  Chagrea,  at  his  recognition  of 
her. 

Ch^.  I certainly  will  stay. 

Thais.  In  the  mean  time,  until  he  comes,  would  you  prefel 
that  we  should  wait  for  him  in  the  house,  rather  than  here 
before  the  door? 

Ch^.  Why  yes,  I should  like  it  much. 

Pyth.  (to  Thais.)  Prithee,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ? 

Thais.  Why,  what’s  the  matter? 

Pyth.  Do  you  ask?  Do  you  think  of  admitting  him  after 
this  into  your  house  ? 

Thais.  Why  not  ? 

: ^ Pyth.  Trust  my  word  for  it,  he’ll  be  creating  some  new 
disturbance. 

Thais.  O dear,  prithee,  do  hold  your  tongue. 


120 


EUNUCHUS; 


[Act  V. 


Fytii.  You  seem  to  me  to  be  far  from  sensible  of  his  assur- 
ance. 

Ch^.  I’ll  not  do  any  thing,  Pythias. 

Pyth.  Upon  my  faith,  I don’t  believe  you,  Chaerea,  except 

in  case  you  are  not  trusted. 

Ch^.  Nay  but,  Pythias,  do  you  be  my  keeper. 

Pyth.  Upon  my  faith,  I would  neither  venture  to  give  any 
thin<^  to’you  to  keep,  nor  to  keep  you  myself:  awy  with  you ! 
Thais  Most  opportunely  the  brother  himself  is  coming. 
Ch^.  I’faith,  Pm  undone.  Prithee,  let’s  be  gone  in-doors, 
Thais.  I don’t  want  him  to  see  me  in  the  street  with  this 

dress  on.  , i a 

Thais.  For  what  reason,  pray  1 Because  you  are  ashamed ; 

CniE.  Just  so. 

Pyth.  Just  sol  But  the  young  woman- 

Thais.  Go  first ; I’ll  follow.  You  stay  here,  Pythias,  that 
you  may  show  Chremes  in.  (Thais  and  Ch^kea  go  mto  the 

house,) 

Scene  III. 


Enter  Chremes  and  Sophrona. 

Pyth.  (to  herself.)  Well!  what  now  can  suggest  itself  to 
my  mind*?  What,  I wonder,  in  order  that  I may  repay  the 
favor  to  that  villain  who  palmed  feUow  off  upon  us? 
Chrem.  Eeally,  do  bestir  yourself  more  quickly,  nurse. 
Soph.  I am  bestirring. 

Chrem.  So  1 see;  but  you  don’t  stir  forward. 

Pyth.  {to  Chremes.)  Have  you  yet  shown  the  tokens  to 

the  nurse  % 

Chrem.  All  of  them. 

Pyth.  Prithee,  what  does  she  sayl  Does  she  recognize 


them"?  . 

Chrem.  Yes,  with  a fall  recollection  oi  them. 

Pyth.  Upon  my  faith,  you  do  bring  good  news;  tor  i 
really  wish  well  to  this  young  woman.  Go  in-doors : my 
mistress  has  been  for  some  time  expecting  you  at  home. 
(Chremes  ai^  Sophrona  go  into  Thais’s  heme.)  But  looK, 
yonder  I espy  that  worthy  fellow,  Parmeno,  coming:  just  see, 
for  heaven’s  sake,  how  leisurely  he  moves  along.  I noP® 
have  it  in  my  power  to  torment  him  after  my  own  fashion- 


Sc.  V.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


121 


ni  go  in-doors,  that  I may  knoAv  for  certain  about  the  dis- 
covery; afterward  I’ll  come  out,  and  give  this  villain  a terri- 
ble fright.  {Goes  into  the  house-) 


Scene  IV. 

Enter  Tarmeno. 

Par.  {to  himself-)  I’ve  just  come  back  to  see  what  Chserea 
has  been  doing  here.  If  he  has  managed  the  affair  with 
dexterity,  ye  Gods,  by  our  trust  in  you,  how  great  and 
genuine  applause  will  Parmeno  obtain!  For  not  to  mention 
that  a passion,  full  of  difficulty  and  expense,  with  which  he 
was  smitten  for  a virgin,  belonging  to  an  extortionate  court- 
esan, I’ve  found  means  of  satisfying  for  him,  without  molest- 
ation, without  outlay,  and  without  cost ; then,  this  other 
point — that  is  really  a thing  that  I consider  my  crowning 
merit,  to  have  found  out  the  way  by  which  a young  man  may 
be  enabled  to  learn  the  dispositions  and  manners  of  court- 
esans, so  that  by  knowing  them  betimes,  he  may  detest  them 
ever  after.  (Pythias  enters  from  the  house  unperceived.)  For 
while  they  are  out  of  doors,  nothing  seems  more  cleanly, 
nothing  more  neat  or  more  elegant ; and  when  they  dine  with 
a gallant,  they  pick  daintily  about  to  see  the  filth,  the  dirti- 
ness, the  neediness  of  these  women ; how  sluttish  they  are 
when  at  home,  and  how  greedy  after  victuals;  in  what  a 
fashion  they  devour  the  black  bread  with  yesterday’s  broth : 
— to  know  all  this,  is  salvation  to  a young  man. 

Scene  Y. 

Enter  Pythias  from  the  house. 

Pyth.  {apart,  unseen  hy  Parmeno.)  Upon  my  faith,  you 
villain.  I’ll  take  vengeance  upon  you  for  these  sayings  and 
doings;  so  that  you  sha’n’t  make  sport  of  us  with  impunity. 

^ Pick  daintily  about) — Ver.  935.  He  seems  here  to  reprehend  the 
same  practice  against  which  Ovid  warns  his  fair  readers,  in  his  Art  of 
Love,  B.  iii.  1.  75.  He  says,  “Do  not  first  take  food  at  home,”  when 
about  to  go  to  an  entertainment.  Westerhovius  seems  to  think  that 
“ligurio”  means,  not  to  “pick  daintily,”  but  “to  be  fond  of  good  eat- 
ing and  refers  to  the  Bacchides  of  Plautus  as  portraying  courtesans 
of  the  “ligurient”  kind,  and  finds  another  specimen  in  Bacchis  in  the 
Heautontimorumenos. 


F 


122 


EUNUCHUS; 


[Act  V. 


{Aloud^  coming  fomoard,)  O,  by  our  trust  in  the  Gods,  what  a 
disgraceful  action  ! O hapless  young  man  ! O wicked  Par- 
meno,  to  have  brought  him  here ! 

Par.  What’s  the  matter? 

Pytit.  I do  pity  him  ; and  so  that  I mightn’t  see  it,  wretch- 
ed creature  that  I am,  I hurried  away  out  of  doors.  AVhat  a 
dreadful  example  they  talk  of  making  him! 

Par.  O Jupiter!  What  is  this  tumult?  Am  I then  un- 
lone?  I’ll  accost  her.  What’s  all  this,  Pythias?  What  are 
pu  saying?  An  example  made  of  whom? 

Pyth.  Do  you  ask  the  question,  you  most  audacious  fel- 
low? You’ve  proved  the  ruin  of  the  young  man  whom  you 
brought  hither  for  the  Eunuch,  Avhiie  you  were  trying  to  put 
a trick  upon  us. 

Par.  How  so,  or  what  has  happened  ? Tell  me. 

Py^tii.  I’ll  tell  you:  that  young  woman  who  was  to-day 
made  a present  to  Thais,  are  you  aware  that  she  is  a citizen 
of  this  place,  and  that  her  brother  is  a person  of  very  high 
I’ank  ? 

Par.  I didn’t  know  that 

Pyth.  But  so  she  has  been  discovered  to  he;  he,  unfortunate 
youthj  has  ravished  her.  When  the  brother  came  to  know  of 
this  being  done,  in  a most  towering  rage,  he 

Par.  Did  what,  pray  ? 

Pyth.  First,  bound  him  in  a shocking  manner. 

Par.  Bound  him  ? 

Pyth.  And  even  though  Thais  entreated  him  that  he 
wouldn’t  do  so 

Par.  What  is  it  you  tell  me  ? 

Pyth.  Now  he  is  threatening  that  he  will  also  do  that  which 
is  usually  done  to  ravishers ; a thing  that  I never  saw  done, 
nor  wish  to. 

Par.  With  what  assurance  does  he  dare  perpetrate  a crime 
so  heinous  ? 

Pyth.  How  “ so  heinous  ?” 

Par.  Is  it  not  most  heinous?  Who  ever  saw  any  one 
taken  up  as  a ravisher  in  a courtesan’s  house? 

Pyth.  I don’t  know. 

Par.  But  that  you  mayn’t  be  ignorant  of  this,  Pythias,  I 
tell  you,  and  give  you  notice  that  he  is  my  master’s  son. 

Pyth.  How ! Prithee,  is  it  he  ? 


Sc.  VL] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


123 


Par.  Don’t  let  Thais  suffer  any  violence  to  be  done  to  him. 
But  why  don’t  I go  in  myselff? 

• Pyth.  Take  care,  Parmeno,  what  you  aa'e  about,  lest  you 
both  do  him  no  good  and  come  to  harm  yourself;  for  it  is 
their  notion,  that  whatever  has  happened,  has  originated  in 
you. 

Par.  What  then,  wretch  that  I am,  shall  I do,  or  how  re- 
solve'? But  look,  I see  the  old  gentleman  returning  from  the 
country;  shall  I tell  him  or  shall  I not?  By  my  troth,  I 
will  tell  him  ; although  I am  certain  that  a heavy  punish- 
ment is  in  readiness  for  me ; but  it’s  a matter  of  necessity,  in 
order  that  he  may  rescue  him. 

Pytii.  You  are  wise.  I’m  going  in-doors;  do  you  relate 
to  him  every  thing  exactly  as  it  happened.  {Goes  into  the 
house, ) 


Scene  VI. 

Enter  Laches. 

Lach.  (to  himself,)  I have  this  advantage’  from  my  coun- 
try-house being  so  near  at  hand  ; no  weariness,  either  of  coun- 
try or  of  town,  ever  takes  possession  of  me ; when  satiety  be- 
gins to  come  on,  I change  my  locality.  But  is  not  that  our 
Parmeno?  Surely  it  is  he.  Whom  are  you  waiting  for, 
Parmeno,  before  the  door  here  ? 

Par.  {p'etends  not  to  see  him,)  Who  is  it?  (Turning  round,) 
Oh,  I’m  glad  that  you  have  returned  safe. 

Lach.  Whom  are  you  waiting  for? 

Par.  (aside.)  I’m  undone:  my  tongue  cleaves  to  my  mouth 
through  fright. 

^ Lach.  Why,  what  is  it  you  are  trembling  about?  Is  all 
quite  right  ? Tell  me. 

Par.  Master,  in  the  first  place,  I would  have  you  per- 
suaded of  what  is  the  fact;  whatever  has  happened  in  this 
affair  has  happened  through  no  fault  of  mine. 

Lach.  What  is  it  ? 

^ This  advantage) — Vcr.  970.  Donates  here  observes  that  the  Poet 
introduces  Laches,  as  he  has  Parmeno  just  before,  in  a state  of  perfect 
tranquillity,  that  their  sudden  change  of  feeling  may  be  the  more  di- 
verting to  the  Audience. 


124 


EUNUCHUS; 


[Act  V. 


Par.  Really  you  have  reason  to  ask.  I ought  first  to  have 
told  you  the  circumstances.  Phaedria  purchased  a certain  Eu- 
nuch, to  make  a present  of  to  this  woman  here. 

Lacii.  To  what  woman? 

Par.  To  Thais. 

Each,  i^ought  ? Good  heavens,  Pm  undone!  For  how 
much  ? 

Par.  Twenty  mina3. 

Each.  Done  for,  quite. 

Par.  Then,  Chmrea  is  in  love  with  a certain  music-girl 
here.  {Pointing  to  Thais’s  house.) 

Each.  How!  What?  In  love?  Does  he  know  already 
what  a courtesan  means?  Is  he  come  to  town?  One  mis- 
fortune close  upon  another. 

Par.  Master,  don’t  look  so  at  me  ; he  didn’t  do  these  things 
by  my  encouragement. 

Each.  Eeave  off  talking  about  yourself  If  I live,  you 
hang-dog,  I’ll Rut  first  give  me  an  account  of  it,  what- 

ever it  is. 

Par.  He  was  taken  to  the  house  of  Thais  in  place  of  the 
Eunuch. 

Each.  In  place  of  the  Eunuch  ? 

Par.  Such  is  the  fact.  They  have  since  apprehended  him 
in  the  house  as  a ravisher,  and  bound  him. 

Each.  Death ! 

Par.  Mark  the  assurance  of  courtesans. 

Each.  Is  there  any  other  calamity  or  misfortune  besides, 
that  you  have  not  told  me  of? 

Par.  That’s  all. 

Each.  Do  I delay  rushing  in  liere?  {Runs  into  the  house  of 
Thais.) 

Par.  {to  himself.)  There’s  no  doubt  but  that  I shall  have  a 
heavy  punishment  for  this  affair,  only  that  I was  obliged  to 
act  thus.  I’m  glad  of  this,  that  some  mischief  will  befall 
these  women  here  through  my  agency,  for  the  old  man  has, 
for  a long  time,  been  on  the  look-out  for  some  occasion^  to  do 
them  a bad  turn  ; at  last  he  has  found  it. 

^ For  some  occasion) — Ver.  999.  We  learn  from  Donatus  that  Me- 
nander was  more  explicit  concerning  the  resentment  of  Laches  against 
Thais,  on  account  of  her  having  corrupted  Phaedria. 


Sc.  VII.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


125 


Scene  VII. 

^ Enter  from  the  house  oy’  l'iiAis,  laughing. 

Pytii.  {to  herself.^  on  entering.)  Never,  upon  my  faith,  for  a 
long  time  past,  has  any  thing  happened  to  me  that  I could 
have  better  liked  to  happen,  than  the  old  gentleman  just  now, 
full  of  his  mistake,  coming  into  our  house.  I had  the  joke 
all  to  myself,  as  I knew^  what  it  was  he  feared. 

Par.  {apart.)  Why,  what’s  all  this? 

Pytii.  Now  I’m  come  out  to  meet  with  Parmeno.  But, 
prithee,  where  is  he?  {Looking  around.) 

Far.  (apart.)  Siie’s  looking  for  me. 

Pytii.  And  there  he  is,  I see ; I’ll  go  up  to  him. 

Par.  What’s  the  matter,  simpleton?  What  do  you  mean? 
What  are  you  laughing  about  ? Still  going  on  ? 

Pytii.  (laughing.)  I’m  dying;  I’m  wretchedly  tired  with 
laughing  at  you. 

Par.  Why  so? 

Pytii.  Do  you  ask?  Upon  my  faith,  I never  did  see,  nor 
shall  see,  a more  silly  fellow.  Oh  dear,  I can  not  well  express 
what  amusement  you’ve  afforded  in-doors.  And  still  I for- 
merly took  you  to  be  a clever  and  shrewd  person.  Why, 
was  there  any  need  for  you  instantly  to  believe  what  I told 
you?  Or  were  you  not  content  with  the  crime,  which  by 
your  advice  the  young  man  had  been  guilty  of,  without 
betraying  the  poor  fellow  to  his  father  as  well?  Why, 

^ As  I kneu:) — Ver.  1003.  She  enjoyed  it  the  more,  knowing 
that  the  old  man  had  notliing  to  fear,  as  he  had  just  heard  the  fiction 
which  she  had  imparted  to  Parmeno.  Donatns  observes  that  the  ter- 
ror of  Laches  accounts  for  his  sudden  consent  to  the  union  of  Chierea 
wdth  Pamphila ; for  though  he  could  not  settle  the  matter  any  other 
w^ay  with  credit,  he  was  glad  to  find  that  his  son  had  made  an  unequal 
match  rather  than  endangered  his  life.  Colman,  however,  observes  with 
considerable  justice:  “I  think  Clicerea  apologizes  still  better  for  this 
arrangement  in  the  Scene  with  Thais  at  the  opening  of  this  Act,  wdiere 
he  says  that  he  is  confident  of  obtaining  his  father’s  consent,  provided 
Pamphila  proves  to  be  a citizen  ; and,  indeed,  the  match  between  them 
is  rather  a reparation  of  an  injury  done  to  her  than  a degradation  of 
himself.” 


126 


EUNUC11U8; 


[Act  V. 


what  do  you  suppose  his  feelings  must  have  been  at  the  mo* 
ment  when  his  father  saw  him  clothed  in  that  dress?  Well, 
do  you  now  understand  that  you  arc  done  for?  {Laughing.) 

Far.  Hah!  what  is  it  you  say,  you  hussy?  Have  you 
been  telling  me  lies  ? What,  laughing  still  ? Does  it  appear 
so  delightful  to  you,  you  jade,  to  be  making  fools  of  us  ? 

Pyth.  {laughing.)  Very  much  so. 

Far.  Yes,  indeed,  if  you  can  do  it  with  impunity. 

Fytit.  Exactly  so. 

Far.  By  heavens,  I’ll  repay  you  ! 

Fytii.  I believe  you  ; but,  perhaps,  that  which  you  are 
threatening,  Farmeno,  will  need  2i  future  day;  you’ll  be  truss- 
ed up  directly,  for  rendering  a silly  young  man  remarkable 
for  disgraceful  conduct,  and  then  betraying  him  to  his  father; 
they’ll  both  be  making  an  example  of  you.  {Laughing.) 

Far.  Fm  done  for ! 

Pyth.  This  reward  has  been  found  you  in  return  for  that 
present  of  yours;'  I’m  off.  {Goes  into  the  house.) 

Far.  {to  himself.)  Wretch  that  I am;  just  like  a rat,  this 
day  I’ve  come  to  destruction  through  betrayal  of  myself.'^ 

Scene  VIII. 

Enter  Thraso  and  Gnatiio. 

Gna.  (^0  Thraso.)  Well  now?  With  what  hope,  or  what 
design,  are  we  come  hither?  What  do  you  intend  to  do, 
Thraso? 

Thra.  What,  I ? To  surrender  myself  to  Thais,  and  do 
what  she  bids  me. 

Gna.  What  is  it  you  say  ? 

Thra.  Why  any  the  less  so,  than  Ilcrcules  served  Orn- 
phale.^ 

’ In  return  for  that  present  oj  yours) — Ver.  1022.  By  the  present  she 
means  Chaerea  in  the  disguise  of  the  Eunuch. 

^ Thi'ough  betrayal  of  myself) — Ver.  1023.  Which  betrays  itself  by 
its  own  squeaking. 

^ Hercules  served  Owphale) — Ver.  1026.  He  alludes  to  the  story  of 
Omphale,  Queen  of  Lydia,  and  Hercules.  Being  violently  in  love  with 
her,  the  hero  laid  aside  his  club  and  boar’s  skin,  and  in  the  habit  of  a 
woman  plied  the  spindle  and  distaff  with  her  maids.  See  a curious 
story  of  Omphale,  Hercules,  and  Faunus,  in  the  Fasti  of  Ovid,  B.  ii. 


Sc.  IX.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


127 


Gna.  The  precedent  pleases  me.  {Aside.)  I only  wish  I 
may  see  your  head  stroked  down  with  a slipper  but  her  door 
makes  a noise. 

Thra.  Confusion  ! Why,  what  mischiefs  this  ? I never 
saw  this  person  before  ; why,  I wonder,  is  he  rushing  out  in 
such  a hurry?  {They  stand  aside.) 


Scene  IX. 

Enter  Chorea  from  the  house  0/ Thais,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  stage, 

Cn^.  {to  himself.,  aloud.)  O fellow-townsmen,  is  there  any 
one  alive  more  fortunate  than  me  this  day?  Not  any  one, 
upon  my  faith:  for  clearly  in  me  have  the  Gods  manifested 
all  their  power,  on  whom,  thus  suddenly,  so  many  blessings 
are  bestowed. 

Par.  {apart.)  Why  is  he  thus  overjoyed  ? 

CniE.  {seeing  Parmeno,  and  running  up  to  him.)  O my 
dear  Parmeno,  the  contriver,  the  beginner,  the  perfecter  of 
all  my  delights,  do  you  know  what  are  my  transports  ? Are 
you  aware  that  my  Pamphila  has  been  discovered  to  be  a cit- 
izen ? 

Par.  I have  heard  so. 

CiiAL  Do  you  know  that  she  is  betrothed  to  me  ? 

Par.  So  may  the  Gods  bless  me,  happily  done. 

Gna.  {apart  to  Thraso.)  Do  you  hear  what  he  says? 

Cii^.  And  then,  besides,  I am  delighted  that  my  brother’s 
mistress  is  secured  to  him ; the  family  is  united.  Thais  has 
committed  herself  to  the  patronage  of  my  father  she  has  put 
herself  under  our  care  and  protection. 

1.  305.  As  to  the  reappearance  of  Thraso  here,  Colman  has  the  follow- 
ing remarks : “ Thraso,  says  Donatos,  is  brought  back  again  in  order 
to  be  admitted  to  some  share  in  the  good  graces  of  Thais,  that  he  may 
not  be  made  unhappy  at  the  end  of  the  Play ; but  surely  it  is  an  essen- 
tial part  of  the  poetical  justice  of  Comedy  to  expose  coxcombs  to  ridi- 
cule and  to  punish  them,  though  without  any  shocking  severity,  for  their 
follies.” 

^ With  a slipper) — ^Ver.  1027.  He  doubtless  alludes  to  the  treatment 
of  Hercules  by  Omphale ; and,  according  to  Lucian,  there  was  a story 
that  Omphale  used  to  beat  him  with  her  slipper  or  sandal.  On  that  ar- 
ticle of  dress,  see  the  Notes  to  the  Trinummus  of  Plautus,  1.  252. 

^ To  the  patronage  of  my  father) — Ver.  1038.  It  was  the  custom  at 


128 


EUNUCH US; 


[Act  V. 


Par.  Thais,  then,  is  wholly  your  brother’s. 

CriiE.  Of  course. 

Par.  Then  this  is  another  reason  for  us  to  rejoice,  that  the 
Captain  will  be  beaten  out  of  doors. 

CniE.  Wherever  my  brother  is,  do  you  take  care  that  he 
hears  this  as  soon  as  possible. 

Par.  I’ll  go  look  for  him  at  home.  {Goes  into  the  house  of 
Laches.) 

Thra.  {apart  to  Gnatiio.)  Do  you  at  all  doubt,  Gnatho, 
but  that  I am  now  ruined  everlastingly  ? 

Gna.  {to  Tiiraso.)  Without  doubt,  I do  think  so. 

Cii^.  {to  himself)  What  am  I to  make  mention  of  first,  or 
commend  in  especial?  Him  who  gave  me  the  advice  to  do 
so,  or  myself,  who  ventured  to  undertake  it  ? Or  ought  I to 
extol  fortune,  who  has  been  my  guide,  and  has  so  opportune- 
ly crowded  into  a single  day  events  so  numerous,  so  import- 
ant; or  my  father’s  kindness  and  indulgence?  Oh  Jupiter,  I 
entreat  you,  do  preserve  these  blessings  unto  us ! 

ScExi:  X. 

JZnter  Ph^drta  from  the  house  of  Laches. 

PiiiED.  {to  himself)  Ye  Gods,  by  our  trust  'in  you,  what 
incredible  things  has  Parmeno  just  related  to  me ! But  where 
is  my  brother  ? 

Ch^.  {stepping  fonvard.)  Here  he  is. 

Ph.ed.  I’m  overjoyed. 

CiiiE.  I quite  believe  you.  There  is  no  one,  brother,  more  • 
worthy  to  be  loved  than  this  Thais  of  yours : so  much  is  she 
a benefactress  to  all  our  family. 

Ph^d.  Whew ! are  you  commending  her  too  to  me  ? 

Thka.  {apart)  I’m  undone;  the  less  the  hope  I have, 

Athens  for  strangers,  such  as  Thais  was,  to  put  themselves  under  the 
protection  (in  clientelam)  of  some  wealthy  citizen,  who,  as  their  patron, 
was  bound  to  protect  them  against  injury.  An  exactly  parallel  case  to 
the  present  is  found  in  the  Miles  Gloriosus  of  Plautus,  1.  799,  where 
the  wealthy  Periplecomenus  says,  “Habeo,  eccillam,  meam  clientam, 
meretricem  adolescentulam.”  “Why,  look,  I have  one,  a dependent 
of  mine,  a courtesan,  a very  young  w'oman.” 


Sc.  X..] 


THE  EUXLT'il. 


129 


the  more  I mn  in  love.  Prithee,  Gimtho,  iny  hope  is  in 
you.  ^ 

Gna.  {apart.)  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do? 

liiKA.  {apart.)  Bring  this  about,  by  entreaties  or  with 
money,  that  I may  at  least  share  Thais’s  favors  in  some 
degree. 

Gna.  {apart.)  It’s  a hard  task. 

Thra.  {apart.)  If  you  set  your  mind  on  any  thing,  I know 
you  welj.  If  you  manage  this,  ask  me  for  any  present  you 
like  as  your  reward  ; you  shall  have  what  you  ask. 

Gna.  (apart)  Is  it  so? 

Thra.  (apart)  It  shall  be  so. 

Gna.  {apart.)  If  I manage  this,  I ask  that  your  hou,«e, 
whether  you  are  present  or  absent,  may  be  open  to  me  ; that 
wi^out  invitation,  there  may  always  be  a place  for  me. 

Thra.  {apart.)  I pledge  my  honor  that  it  shall  be  so. 

Gna.  {apart.)  I’ll  set  about  it  then. 

Ph^d.  Who  is  it  I hear  so  close  at  hand?  {Tiirnina 
round.)  O Thraso '' 

Thra.  {coming  forward.)  Save  you  both 

here^^"^^'  aware  what  has  taken  place 

Thra.  I am  quite  aware. 

Ph^d.  Why,  then,  do  I see  you  in  this  neighborhood  ? 

Ihra.  Depending  on  your  kindness. 

Ph^d.  Do  you  know  what  sort  of  dependence  you  have  ? 
Captain,  I give  you  notice,  if  ever  I catch  you  in  this  street 
again,  even  if  you  should  say  to  me,  “ I was  looking  for  an- 
otter  person,  I was  on  my  road  this  way,”  yon  are  undone. 

Gna.  Come,  come,  that’s  not  handsome. 

Ph^d.  I’ve  said  it. 

Gna.  I didn’t  know  you  gave  yourself  such  airs. 

PiiiED.  So  it  shall  be. 

Gna.  First  hear  a few  words  from  me ; and  when  I have 
said  the  thing,  if  you  approve  of  it,  do  it. 

Pha2d.  Let’s  hear. 

Gna.  Do  you  step  a little  that  way,  Thraso.  (Thraso 
stands  asiae.)  In  the  first  place,  I wish  you  both  implicitly 
10  believe  me  in  this,  that  whatever  I do  in  this  matter,  I do 
It  entirely  for  my  own  sake;  but  if  the  same  thing  is  of  ad- 
vantage to  yourselves,  it  would  be  folly  for  vou  not  to  do  it 

F 2 


130  KUXUCiirS;  [Act  V. 

TiiiED.  Wliatisil? 

(:>NA.  I’m  of  opinion  that  the  Captain,  your  rival,  should 
be  received  among  you. 

Pii^D.  (starting.)  Hah ! 

CiiiE.  Be  received? 

Gna.  {to  PiiiEDRiA.)  Only  consider,  i'faith,  Phaedria,  at 
the  free  rate  you  are  living  with  her,  and  indeed  very  freely 
you  are  living,  you  have  but  little  to  give ; and  it’s  necessary 
for  Thais  to  receive  a good  deal.  That  all  this  may  be  sup- 
plied for  your  amour  and  not  at  your  own  expense,  there  is 
not  an  individual  better  suited  or  more  fitted  for  your  pur- 
pose than  the  Captain.  In  the  first  place,  he  both  has  got 
enough  to  give,  and  no  one  does  give  more  profusely.  He  is 
a fool,  a dolt,  a blockhead ; night  and  day  he  snores  away ; 
and  you  need  not  fear  that  the  lady  will  fall  in  love  with 
him ; you  may  easily  have  him  discarded  whenever  you 
please. 

Ch^.  (to  PiE^DRiA.)  What  shall  we  do? 

Gna.  And  this  besides,  which  I deem  to  be  of  even  greater 
importance, — not  a single  person  entertains  in  better  style  or 
more  bountifully. 

CiiiE.  It’s  a wonder  if  this  sort  of  man  can  not  be  made 
use  of  in  some  way  or  other. 

Pii.ED.  I think  so  too. 

Gna.  You  act  properly.  One  thing  I have  still  to  beg  of 
you, — that  you’ll  receive  me  into  your  fraternity;  I’ve  been 
rolling  that  stone^  for  a considerable  time  past. 

Ph^d.  We  admit  you. 

CniE.  And  with  all  my  heart. 

Gna.  Then  I,  in  return  for  this,  Phjedria,  and  you,  Chaerea, 
make  him  over  to  you'^  to  be  eaten  and  drunk  to  the  dregs. 

Ch^.  Agreed. 

PimD.  He  quite  deserves  it.^ 

^ Been  rolling  that  stone) — Ver.  1 084.  Donatus  thinks  that  he  alludes 
to  the  story  of  Sisyphus,  who,  in  the  Infernal  Regions,  was  condemned 
eternally  to  roll  a stone  up  a hill,  which,  on  arriving  at  the  summit,  im- 
mediately fell  to  the  bottom. 

^ Make  him  over  to  you) — Ver.  1086.  “ Vobis  propino.”  The  word 
“propino”  was  properly  applied  to  the  act  of  tasting  a cup  of  wine,  and 
then  handing  it  to  another ; he  means  that  he  has  had  his  taste  of  the 
Captain,  and  is  now  ready  to  hand  him  over  to  them. 

^ He  quite  deserves  if) — Ver  1087.  Cooke  has  tlie  following  appropri- 


So.  X.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


131 


Gna.  {calling  to  Theaso.)  Thraso,  whenever  you  please, 
^tep  this  way. 

The  A.  Prithee,  how  goes  it  ? 

Gna.  How?  Why^  these  people  didn’t  know  you;  after 
I had  discovered  to  them  your  qualities,  and  had  praised  you 
as  your  actions  and  your  virtues  deserved,  I prevailed  upon 
them. 

Thea.  You  have  managed  well ; I give  you  my  best  thanks. 
Besides,  I never  was  any  where  but  what  all  were  extremely 
fond  of  me. 

Gna.  {to  Ph^deia  and  Ch^eea.)  Didn’t  I tell  you  that 
he  was  a master  of  the  Attic  elegance  ? 

PHiED.  He  is  no  other  than  you  mentioned.  {Pointing  to 
his  Fathee’s  house.)  Walk  this  way.  {To  the  Audience.) 
Fare  you  well,  and  grant  us  your  applause. 

ate  remark : “ I can  not  think  that  this  Play,  excellent  as  it  is  in  al- 
most all  other  respects,  concludes  consistently  with  the  manners  of 
gentlemen;  there  is  a meanness  in  Phsedria  and  Chserea  consenting  to 
take  Thraso  into  their  society,  with  a view  of  fleecing  him,  which  the 
Poet  should  have  avoided.” 


/ 


HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS; 

THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


DKAMATIS  PERSONS. 

Chremes/  an  old  gentleman,  living  in  the  country. 
Menedemus,^  an  old  gentleman,  his  neighbor. 

Clinia,^  son  of  Menedemus. 

Clitipho,^  son  of  Chremes. 

Dromo,^  son  of  Clinia. 

Syrus,®  servant  of  Clitipho. 

SosTRATA,’  wife  of  Chremes. 

Antipiiila,^  a young  woman  beloved  by  Clinia. 

Bacchis,®  a Courtesan,  the  mistress  of  Clitipho. 

The  Nurse  of  Antiphila. 

Phrygia,* *®  maid-servant  to  Bacchis. 

Scene. — In  the  country,  near  Athens  ; before  the  houses  of  Chremes 
and  Menedemus. 


* See  the  Dramatis  Personie  of  the  Andria. 

^ Prom  fievog,  “strength,”  and  dtjfiogy  “ the  people.” 

^ From  k?/lvg),  ‘‘  to  incline,”  or  from  KTnvy,  “ the  marriage-bed.” 

* From  KletTo^,  “illustrious,”  and  “light.” 

® See  the  Dramatis  Persona;  of  the  Andria. 

® From  Syria,  his  native  country. 

From  “to  preserve,”  or  “save.” 

® From  dvrl,  “ in  return,”  and  “ to  love.” 

® From  Bacchus,  the  God  of  Wine. 

From  Phrygia,  her  native  country. 


THE  SUBJECT. 


Chre:\[ES  commands  his  wife,  wi^en  pregnant,  if  she  is  delivered  of  a 
girl  immediately  to  kill  the  child.  Having  given  birth  to  a girl,  Sos- 
trata  delivers  her  to  an  old  woman  named  Philtera  to  be  exposed. 
Instead  of  doing  this,  Philtera  calls  her  Antiphila,  and  brings  her  up 
as  her  own.  Clinia,  the  son  of  Mewedemus,  falls  in  love  with  her, 
and  treats  her  as  though  his  wife.  Menedemus,  on  learning  this,  is 
very  angry,  and  by  his  harsh  language  drives  away  his  son  from  home, 
leaking  this  to  heart,  and  in  order  to  punish  him'self  for  his  ill-timed 
severity,  Menedemus,  though  now  an  aged  man,  fatigues  himself  by 
hUooring  at  agricultural  pursuits  from  morning  till  night.  At  the  pe^^ 
riod  when  the  Play  commences,  Clinia  has  jusi  returned  to  Attica, 
but  not  daring  to  go  to  his  father’s  house,  is  entertained  by  Clitipho,^ 
the  son  of  Chremes,  who  is  the  neighbor  of  Menedemus*  Clitipho 
then  sends  for  Antiphila,  whose  supposed  mother  has  recently  died, 
to  come  and  meet  her  lover.  On  the  same  day,  Chremes  learns  from 
Menedemus  how  anxious  he  is  for  his  son’s  return ; and  on  hearing 
from  his  son  of  the  arrival  of  Clinia,  he  defers  informing  Menedemus 
of  it  until  the  next  day.  Syrus,  the  servant  v/ho  has  been  sent  to 
ictch  Antiphila,  also  brings  with  liim  Bacchis,  an  extravagant  Court- 
esan, the  mistress  of  Clitipho.  To  concerd  the  truth  from  Chremes, 
they  represent  to  him  that  Bacchis  is  the  mistress  of  Clinia,  and  that 
Antiphila  is  one  of  her  maids.  Next  morning  Chremes  informs  Men- 
edemus of  his  son’s  arrival,  and  of  the  extravagant  conduct  of  his 
mistress,  but  begs  that  he  will  conceal  from  Clinia  his  knowledge  of 
this  fact.  Bacchis  requiring  ten  minm,  Syrus  devises  a plan  for  ob- 
taining the  money  from  Chremes,  while  the  latter  is  encouraging  him 
to  think  of  a project  against  Menedemus.  Syrus  tells  him  a story,  that 
tiie  mother  of  Antiphila  had  borrowed  a thousand  drachmie  of  Bac- 
chis, and  being  dead,  the  girl  is  left  in  her  hands  as  a pledge  for  the 
money.  While  these  things  are  going  on,  Sostrata  discovers  in  An- 
tipnila  her  own  daughter.  In  order  to  obtain  the  money  which  Bacchis 
persists  m deinanding,  Syrus  suggests  to  Chremes  that  it  should  be 
l epiesented  to  Menedemus  that  Bacchis  is  the  mistress  of  Clitipho,  and 
that  he  should  be  requested  to  conceal  her  in  his  house  for  a few 
days  ; it  is jilso  arranged  that  Clinia  shall  pretend  to  his  father  to  be 
m love  with  Antiphila,  and  to  beg  her  as  his  wife.  He  is  then  to  ask 
01  nioney , as  though  for  the  wedding,  which  is  to  be  handed  over  to 
^acchis.  Chremes  does  not  at  first  approve  of  the  plan  suggested  by 
feyius  ; but  he  pays  down  the  money  for  which  he  has  been  informed 
is  daughter  is^  a pledge  in  the  hands  of  Bacchis.  This,  with  his 
Knowledge,  is  given  to  Clitipho,  who,  as  Syrus  says,  is  to  convey  it  to 
Bacchis,  who  is  now  in  the  house  of  Menedemus,  to  make  the  latter 
moie  readily  believe  that  she  is  his  mistress.  Shortly  after  this,  the 
plot  is  discovered  by  Chremes,  who  threatens  to  punish  Clitipho  and 
byius.  The  Play  concludes  -with  Chremes  giving  his  consent  to  the 
marriage  of  Clinia  with  Antiphila,  and  pardoning  Clitipho,  who  prom- 
ises  to  abandon  the  Courtesan,  and  marry.  Unlike  the  other  Plays 
o ierence  and  Plautus,  the  Plot  of  this  Plav  extends  over  two  davs. 


It  is  from  the  Greek  of  Menander.  Performed  at  the  Mega- 
lensian  Games ; Lucius  Cornelius  Lentulus  and  Lucius  Va- 
lerius Flaccus  being  Curule  ^diles.  Ambivius  Turpio 
performed  it.  Flaccus,  the  freedman  of  Claudius,  composed 
the  music.  The  first  time  it  was  performed  to  the  music 
of  treble  and  bass  flutes;  the  second  time,  of  two  treble 
flutes.  It  was  acted  three  times  ; Marcus  J uventius  and 
Titus  Sempronius  being  Consuls.^ 

’ Being  Consuls) — M.  Juventius  Thalna  and  Ti.  Sempronius  Grac- 
chus were  Consuls  in  the  year  from  the  Building  of  the  City  589,  and 
B.c.  164. 


HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS; 

THE  SELF-TORMEHTOR. 


THE  SUMMARY  OF  C.  SULPITIUS  APOLLINARIS. 

A SEVERE  father  compels  his  son  Clinia,  in  love  with  Antiphila,  to  go 
abroad  to  the  wars ; and  repenting  of  what  has  been  done,  torments 
himself  in  mind.  Afterward,  when  he  has  returned,  unknown  to  his 
father,  he  is  entertained  at  the  house  of  Clitipho.  The  latter  is  in 
love  with  Bacchis,  a Courtesan.  AVhen  Clinia  sends  for  his  much- 
loved Antiphila,  Bacchis  comes,  as  though  his  mistress,  and  Antiphi- 
la, wearing  the  garb  of  her  servant ; this  is  done  in  order  that  Cliti- 
pho may  conceal  it  from  his  father.  He,  through  the  stratagems  of 
Syrus,  gets  ten  minaj  from  the  old  man  for  the  Courtesan.  Antiphila 
is  discovered  to  be  the  sister  of  Clitipho.  Clinia  receives  her,  and 
Clitipho,  another  woman,  for  his  wife. 


THE  PROLOGUE. 

Lest  it  should  be  a matter  of  surprise  to  any  one  of  you,  why" 
the  Poet  has  assigned  to  an  old  man^  a part  that  belongs  to  the 
young,  that  I will  first  explain  to  you  and  then,  the  reason 

^ Assigned  to  an  old  num) — Ver.  1 . He  refers  to  the  fact  that  the  Pro- 
logue was  in  general  spoken  by  young  men,  whereas  it  is  here  spoken 
by  L.  Ambivius  Turpio,  the  leader  of  the  Company,  a man  stricken  in 
years.  The  Prologue  was  generally  not  recited  by  a person  who  per- 
formed a character  in  the  opening  Scene. 

^ That  I will  first  explain  to  you) — Ver.  3.  His  meaning  seems  to  be, 
that  he  will  first  tell  them  the  reason  why  he,  who  is  to  take  a part  in 
the  opening  Scene,  speaks  the  Prologue,  which  is  usually  spoken  by  a 
young  man  who  does  not  take  part  in  that  Scene  ; and  that  he  will  then 
proceed  to  speak  in  character  (eloquor),  as  Chremes,  in  the  first  Scene. 
His  reason  for  being  chosen  to  speak  the  Prologue,  is  that  he  may  be  a 
pleader  (orator)  for  the  Poet,  a task  which  would  be  likely  to  be  better 
performed  by  him  than  by  a younger  man. 


13G 


IIKAi:  I'OXTLMORUMENOS ; 


for  my  coming  I will  disclose.  An  entire  Play  from  an  entire 
Greek  one,i  the  Heautontimorumenos,  I am  to-day  about  to 
represent,  which  from  a two-fold  plot^  has  been  made  but  one. 
I have  shown  that  it  is  new,  and  what  it  is : next  I would 
mention  who  it  was  that  wrote  it,  and  whose  in  Greek  it  is, 
if  I did  not  think  that  the  greater  part  of  you  are  aware. 
Jfow,  for  what  reason  I have  learned  this  part,  in  a few 
)rds  I will  explain.  The  Poet  intended  me  to  be  a Plead- 
^ no':  the  Speaker  of  a Prologue ; your  decision  he  asks,  and 
as  appo  ted  me  the  advocate;  if  this  advocate  can  avail 
IS  much  his  oral  powers  as  he  has  excelled  in  inventing 
lappily,  who  composed  this  speech  which  I am  about  to 
recite.  For  as  to  malevolent  rumors  spreading  abroad 
tluit  he  has  mixed  together  many  Greek  Plays  while  writing 
a few  Latin  ones,  he  does  not  deny  that  this  is  the  case,  and 
that  he  does  not  repent  of  so  doing ; and  he  affirms  that  he 
will  do  so  again.  He  has  the  example  of  good  Poets ; after 
which  example  he  thinks  it  is  allowable  for  him  to  do  what 


^ From  an  entire  Greek  one) — Ver.  4.  In  contradistinction  to  such 
Plays  as  the  Andria,  as  to  which  it  was  a subject  of  complaint  that  it 
had  been  formed  out  of  a mixture  (contaminatus)  of  the  Andrian  and 
Perinthian  of  Menander. 

^ Which  from  a two-fold  plot) — Yer.  G.  Vollbehr  suggests  that  the 
meaning  of  this  line  is,  that  though  it  is  but  one  Play,  it  has  a two-fold 
plot — the  intrigues  of  two  young  men  with  two  mistresses,  and  the  fol- 
lies of  tvro  old  men.  As  this  Play  is  supposed  to  represent  the  events 
of  two  successive  days,  the  night  intervening,  it  has  been  suggested  that 
the  reading  is  “duplex — ex  argumento — simplici;”  the  Play  is  “two- 
fold, with  but  one  plot,”  as  extending  to  two  successive  days.  The  Play 
derives  its  name  from  the  Greek  words,  Lavrov,  “ himself,”  and  rtpopov- 
“ tormenting.” 

^ To  he  a Pleader') — Yer.  1 1 . He  is  to  be  the  pleader  and  advocate 
of  the  Poet,  to  influence  the  Audience  in  his  favor,  and  against  his 
adversaries ; and  not  to  explain  the  plot  of  the  Play.  Colman  has  the 
following  observation : “ It  is  impossible  not  to  regret  that  tliere  are 
not  above  ten  lines  of  the  Self-Tormentor  preserved  among  the  Frag- 
ments of  Menander.  We  are  so  deeply  interested  by  what  we  see  of 
that  character  in  Terence,  that  one  can  not  but  be  curious  to  inquire  in 
what  manner  the  Greek  Poet  sustained  it  through  five  Acts.  The 
Homan  author,  though  he  has  adopted  the  title  of  the  Greek  Play,  has 
so  altered  the  fable,  that  Menedemus  is  soon  thrown  into  the  back- 
ground, and  Chremes  is  brought  forward  as  the  princi])al  object ; or,  to 
vary  the  allusion  a little,  the  Menedemus  of  Terence  seems  to  be  a 
drawing  in  miniature  copied  from  a full  length,  as  large  as  the  life,  by 
Menander.” 


THE  SELF-TOliilENTOK. 


13T 


they  have  clone.  Then,  as  to  a malevolent  old  Poet'  sayino- 
that  he  has  suddenly  applied  himself  to  dramatic  pursuits^ 
relying  on  the  genius  of  his  friends, 2 and  not  his  own  natural 
abilities;  on  that  your  judgment,  your  opinion,  will  prevail. 
Wherefore  I do  entreat  you  all,  that  the  suggestions  of  our 
antagonists  may  not  avail  more  than  those  of  our  favorers. 
Do  you  be  favorable ; grant  the  means  of  prospering  to 
those  ivho  afford  you  the  means  of  being  spectators  of  new 
1 lays ; those,  I mean,  without  faults : that  he  may  not  suppose 
this  said  in  his  behalf  who  lately  made  the  public  give  way 
to  a slave  as  he  ran  along  in  the  street why  should  he  take 
a madman’s  part?  About  his  faults  he  will  say  more  when 
he  brings  out  some  other  new  ones,  unless  he  puts  an  end  to 
his  caviling.  Attend  with  favorable  feelings;  grant  me  the 
opportunity  that  I may  be  allowed  to  act  a quiet  Play'  in 


> A malevolent  old  Poe f)~\ey.  22.  He  alludes  to  bis  old  ciicmv  Lus- 
ciis  Laviuius,  referred  to  in  tlie  jirecsdiiw  Proloo-ue  ’ 

" The  genius  of  his  f,fntnds)—YQv.  24.  He  alludes  to  a report  which 
had  been  spread,  that  his  friends  Lielius  and  Scipio  had  published  their 
own  compositions  under  his  name.  Servilius  is  also  mentioned  by 
w''re^circulated^”°*^^^^'  respecting  whom  similar  stories 

^ Hs  he  ran  along  in  the  streety-Yox.  31.  He  probably  does  not  in- 
tend to  censure  this  practice  entirely  in  Comedy,  but  to  remind  the 
Audience  that  m some  recent  Play  of  Luscus  Laviuius  this  had  been 
the  sole  stirring  incident  introduced.  Plautus  introduces  Mercury  run- 
ning  in  the  guise  of  Sosia,  in  the  fourth  Scene  of  the  Amphitryon,  1 
.187,  and  e.xclaiming,  “For  surely,  why,  faith,  should  I,  a God,  be  .any 
less  allowed  to  threaten  the  jiublic,  if  it  doesn’t  get  out  of  my  way,  than 
a slave  in  the  Comedies?”  This  practice  can  not,  however,  be  intend- 
ed to  be  here  censured  by  Plautus,  as  ho  is  guilty  of  it  in  three  other 
instances.  In  the  Mercator,  Acantliio  runs  to  his  master  Charinus  to 
tell  him  that  his  mistress  Pasicompsa  has  been  seen  in  the  ship  bv  his 
father  Demijiho;  in  the  Stichus,  Pinaciuni,  a slave,  runs  to  inform  his 
, mistress  Philumena  that  her  husband  has  arrived  in  port,  on  his  return 
I rom  Asia ; and  in  the  Mostellaria,  Tranio,  in  haste,  brings  infornia- 
I ;ion  of  the  unexpected  arrival  of  Theuropides.  The  “ currens  servus” 

! "’^Iso  mentioned  in  the  Prologue  to  the  Andria,  1.  36.  See  the  solil- 
oquy of  Stasinius,  in  the  Trintimmus  of  Plautus,  1.  1007. 

I.  ’ 36.  “Statariam.”  See  the  spurious  Prologue 

1 m the  Bacchides  of  Plautus,  1.  10,  and  the  Note  to  the  passage  in  Bohn’s 
lianslation.  The_ Comedy  of  the  Romans  was  either  “ stataria,”  “ mo- 
oiia,  or  “mixta.  ’ “Stataria”  was  a Comedy  which  w'as  calm  and 
peaceable,  such  as  the  Cistellaria  of  Plautus ; “motoria”  was  one  full 
3t  action  and  disturbance,  like  his  Amphitryon;  while  the  “Comoedia 
mixta  was  a mixture  of  both,  such  as  the  Eunuchus  of  Terence. 


138 


HEAUTONTIMOKUMENOS ; 


[Act  I. 


silence ; that  the  servant  everlastingly  running  about,  the 
angry  old  man,  the  gluttonous  parasite,  the  impudent  sharp- 
er, and  the  greedy  procurer,  may  not  have  always  to  be  per- 
formed by  me  with  the  utmost  expense  of  voice,  and  the 
greatest  exertion.  For  my  sake  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
this  request  is  fair,  that  so  some  portion  of  my  labor  may  be 
abridged.  For  nowadays,  those  who  write  new  Plays  do 
not  spare  an  aged  man.  If  there  is  any  piece  requiring  ex- 
ertion, they  come  running  to  me;  but  if  it  is  a light  one,  it 
is  taken  to  another  Company.  In  the  present  one  the  style 
is  pure.  Do  you  make  proof,  what,  in  each  character,^  my 
ability  can  effect.  If  I have  never  greedily  set  a ?t{gh  price 
upon  my  skill,  and  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  this  is 
my  greatest  gain,  as  far  as  possible  to  be  subservient  to  your 
convenience,  establish  in  me  a precedent,  that  the  young  may 
be  anxious  rather  to  please  you  than  themselves. 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Chremes,  and  Menedemus  with  a spade  in  his  hand^  ivho 
falls  to  digging, 

Chrem.  Although  this  acquaintanceship  between  us  is  of 
very  recent  date,  from  the  time  in  fact  of  your  purchasing  an 
estate  here  in  the  neighborhood,  yet  either  your  good  quali- 
ties, or  our  being  neighbors  (which  I take  to  be  a sort  of 
friendship),  induces  me  to  inform  you,  frankly  and  familiarly, 
that  you  appear  to  me  to  labor  beyond  your  years,  and  be- 
yond what  your  affairs  require.  For,  in  the  name  of  Gods 
and  men,  what  would  you  have?  What  can  be  your  aim? 
You  are,  as  I conjecture,  sixty  years  of  age,  or  more.  No 
man  in  these  parts  has  a better  or  a more  valuable  estate,  no 
one  more  servants ; and  yet  you  discharge  their  duties  just  as 
diligently  as  if  there  were  none  at  all.  However  early  in  the 
morning  I go  out,  and  however  late  in  the  evening  1 return 

^ What  in  each  character) — Ver.  47.  “In  utramque  partem  ingenium 
quid  possit  meum.”  This  line  is  entirely  omitted  in  Vollbehr’s  edition ; 
but  it  appears  to  be  merely  a typographical  error. 


Sc.  L] 


THP:  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


139 


home,  I see  you  either  digging,  or  plowing,  or  doing  some- 
thing, in  fact,  in  the  fields.  You  take  respite  not  an  instant, 
and  are  quite  regardless  of  yourself.  1 am  very  sure  that  this 
is  not  done  for  your  amusement.  But  really  I am  vexed  how 
little  work  is  done  here.^  If  you  were  to  employ  the  time 
you  spend  in  laboring  yourself,  in  keeping  your  servants  at 
work,  you  would  profit  much  more. 

Men.  Have  you  so  much  leisure,  Chremes,  from  your  own 
affairs,  that  you  can  attend  to  those  of  others — those  which 
don’t  concern  you? 

Chrem.  I am  a man,^  and  nothing  that  concerns  a man  do 
I deem  a matter  of  indifference  to  me.  Suppose  that  I wish 

^ How  little  ivorh  is  done  here) — Yer.  72.  Yollbehr  thinks  that  his 
meaning  is,  that  he  is  quite  vexed  to  see  so  little  progress  made,  in  spite 
of  his  neighbor’s  continual  vexation  and  turmoil,  and  that,  as  he  says  in 
the  next  line,  he  is  of  opinion  that  if  he  were  to  cease  working  himself, 
and  were  to  overlook  his  servants,  he  would  get  far  more  done.  It  is 
more  generally  thought  to  be  an  objection  which  Chremes  suggests  that 
Menedemus  may  possibly  make. 

^ lam  a man) — Ver.  77.  ‘Hlomo  sum:  humani  nihil  a me  alienum 
puto.”  St.  Augustine  says,  that  at  the  delivery  of  this  sentiment,  the 
Theatre  resounded  with  applause ; and  deservedly,  indeed,  for  it  is  re- 
plete with  the  very  essence  of  benevolence  and  disregard  of  self.  Cicero 
quotes  the  passage  in  his  work  De  Officiis,  B.  i.,  c.  9.  The  remarks  of 
Sir  Richard  Steele  upon  this  passage,  in  the  Spectator,  No.  502,  are 
worthy  to  be  transcribed  at  length.  “The  Play  was  the  Self-Tor- 
mentor. It  is  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  a perfect  picture  of 
human  life,  but  I did  not  observe  in  the  whole  one  passage  that  could 
raise  a laugh.  How  well-disposed  must  that  people  be,  who  could  be 
entertained  with  satisfaction  by  so  sober  and  polite  mirth!  In  the 
first  Scene  of  the  Comedy,  when  one  of  the  old  men  accuses  the  other 
of  impertinence  for  interposing  in  Hs  affairs,  he  answers,  H am  a 
man,  and  can  not  help  feeling  any  sorrow  that  can  arrive  at  man.’  It 
is  said  this  sentence  was  received  with  an  universal  applause.  There 
can  not  be  a greater  argument  of  the  general  good  understanding  of  a 
people,  than  their  sudden  consent  to  give  their  approbation  of  a senti- 
ment which  has  no  emotion  in  it.  If  it  were  spoken  with  ever  so  great 
skill  in  the  actor,  the  manner  of  uttering  that  sentence  could  have 
nothing  in  it  which  could  strike  any  but  people  of  the  greatest  human- 
ity— nay,  people  elegant  and  skillful  in  observation  upon  it.  It  is  po^si- 
j ble  that  he  may  have  laid  his  hand  on  his  heart,  and  with  a winning 
insinuation  in  his  countenance,  expressed  to  his  neighbor  that  he  was  a 
man  who  made  his  case  his  own ; yet  I will  engage,  a player  in  Covent 
Garden  might  hit  such  an  attitude  a thousand  times  before  he  would 
have  been  regarded.” 


140 


HE  AUTONTIM  OKU  HEN  OS ; 


[Act  I. 


either  to  advise  you  in  this  matter,  or  to  be  informed  myself: 
if  what  you  do  is  right,  that  I may  do  the  same ; if  it  is  not, 
then  that  I may  dissuade  you. 

Men.  It’s  requisite  for  me  to  do  so;  do  you  as  it  is  neces- 
sary for  you  to  do. 

Chrem.  Is  it  requisite  for  any  person  to  torment  himself  ? 

Men.  It  is  for  me. 

Chrem.  If  you  have  any  affliction,  1 could  wish  it  other- 
wise. But  prithee,  what  sorrow  is  this  of  yours?  How  have 
you  deserved  so  ill  of  yourself? 

Men.  Alas!  alas!  [He  begins  to  iveep.) 

Chrem.  Do  not  weep,  but  make  me  acquainted  with  it, 
whatever  it  is.  Do  not  be  reserved  ; fear  nothing  ; trust  me, 
I tell  you.  Either  by  consolation,  or  by  counsel,  or  by  any 
means,  I will  aid  you. 

Men.  Do  you  wish  to  know  this  matter? 

Chrem.  Yes,  and  for  the  reason  I mentioned  to  you. 

Men.  I will  tell  you. 

Chrem.  But  still,  in  the  mean  time,  lay  down  that  rake; 
don’t  fatigue  yourself. 

AIen.  By  no  means. 

Chrem.  What  can  be  your  object  ? [Tries  to  take  the  rake 
from  him.') 

Men.  Do  leave  me  alone,  timt  I may  give  myself  no  res- 
pite from  my  labor. 

Chrem.  I will  not  allow  it,  I tell  you.  [Taking  the  rake 
from  him.) 

Men.  Ah ! that’s  not  fair. 

Chrem.  [poising  the  rake.)  Whew ! such  a heavy  one  as 
this,  pray ! 

Men.  Such  are  my  deserts. 

Chrem.  Now  speak.  [Laying  down  the  rake.) 

Men.  I have  an  only  son, — a young  man, — alas ! why  did 
I say — “ I have?” — rather  I should  say  ^ I had”  Chreraes: 
— whether  I have  him  now,  or  not,  is  uncertain. 

Chrem.  Why  so? 

Men.  You  shall  know : — There  is  a poor  old  woman  here, 
a stranger  from  Corinth ; — her  daughter,  a young  woman, 
he  fell  in  love  with,  insomuch  that  he  almost  regarded  her 
as  his  wife;  all  this  took  place  unknown  to  me.  When  I 


Sc.  L] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOK. 


141 


discovered  the  matter,  I began  to  reprove  him,  not  with 
gentleness,  nor  in  the  wixy  suited  to  the  love-siek  mind  of  a 
youth,  but  with  violence,  and  after  the  usual  method  of  fa- 
thers. I was  daily  reproaching  him, — ^‘Look  you,  do  you 
expect  to  be  allow'ed  any  longer  to  act  thus,  myself,  your  fa- 
ther, being  alive ; to  be  keeping  a mistress  pretty  much  as 
though  your  wife?  You  are  mistaken,  Clinia,  and  you  don’t 
know  me,  if  you  fancy  that.  I am  willing  that  you  should 
be  called  my  son,  just  as  long  as  you  do  what  becomes  you  ; 
but  if  you  do  not  do  so,  I shall  find  out  how  it  becomes  me  to 
act  toward  you.  This  arises  from  nothing,  in  fact,  but  too 
much  idleness.  At  your  time  of  life,  I did  not  devote  my 
time  to  dalliance,  but,  in  consequence  of  my  poverty,  departed 
hence  for  Asia,  and  there  acquired  in  arms  both  riches  and 
military  glory.”  At  length  the  matter  came  to  this, — the 
youth,  from  hearing  the  same  things  so  often,  and  with  such 
severity,  Avas  overcome.  He  supposed  that  I,  through  age  and 
affection,  had  more  judgment  and  foresight  for  him  than  him- 
self. He  Avent  off  to  Asia,  Chremes,  to  serve  under  the  king. 

CiiREM.  AVhat  is  it  you  say? 

Men.  He  departed  Avithout  my  knoAvledgc — and  has  been 
gone  these  three  months. 

CiiREM.  Both  are  to  be  blamed — although  I still  think  this 
step  shoAvs  an  ingenuous  and  enterprising  disposition. 

^Ien.  When  I learned  this  from  those  Avho  Avere  in  the 
secret,  I returned  home  sad,  and  Avith  feelings  almost  over- 
Avhelrned  and  distracted  through  grief.  I sit  doAvn ; my 
servants  run  to  me;  they  take  off*  my  shoes H then  some 
make  all  haste  to  spread  the  couches,^  and  to  prepare  a re- 
past ; each  according  to  his  ability  did  zealously  ivliat  he 
covld,  in  order  to  alleviate  my  soitoaa^  When  I observed 
this,  I began  to  reflect  thus  : — ‘‘  What ! are  so  many  persons 
anxious  for  my  sake  alone,  to  pleasure  myself  only  ? Are  so 

^ Take  off  wy  shoes') — Ver.  124.  As  to  the  “socci,”  or  Ioav  shoes  of 
the  ancients,  see  the  Notes  to  the  Trinummus  of  Plautus,  1.  720,  in 
Bohn’s  Translation.  It  Avas  the  especial  duty  of  certain  slaAes  to  take 
olf  the  shoes  of  their  masters. 

2 To  spread  the  couches) — Yer.  125.  The  ‘Tecti”  or  ‘‘couches”  upon 
which  the  ancients  reclined  at  meals,  have  been  enlarged  upon  in  the 
Notes  to  Plautus,  where  full  reference  is  also  made  to  the  “ coena,” 
or  “ dinner,”  and  other  meals  of  the  Romans. 


142 


liEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; 


[Act  I. 


many  female  servants  to  provide  me  with  dress'?^  Shall  I 
alone  keep  up  such  an  expensive  establishment,  while  my 
only  son,  who  ought  equally,  or  even  more  so,  to  enjoy  these 
things — inasmuch  as  his  age  is  better  suited  for  the  enjoy- 
ment of  them — him,  poor  youths  have  I driven  away  from 
home  by  my  severity  I Were  I to  do  this,  really  I should 
deem  myself  deserving  of  any  calamity.  But  so  long  as ‘he 
leads  this  life  of  penury,  banished  froni  his  country  through 
my  severity,  I will  revenge  his  wrongs  upon  myself,  toiling, 
making  money,  saving,  and  laying  up  for  him.”  At  once  I 
set  about  it ; I left  nothing  in  the  house,  neither  movables^ 
nor  clothing;  every  thing  I scraped  together.  Slaves,  male 
and  female,  except  those  who  could  easily  pay  for  their  keep 
by  working  in  the  country,  all  of  them  I set  up  to  auction 
and  sold.  I at  once  put  up  a bill  to  sell  my  house. ^ I col- 
lected somewhere  about  fifteen  talents,  and  purchased  this 
farm  ; here  I fatigue  myself.  I have  come  to  this  conclu- 
sion, Chremes,  that  1 do  my  son  a less  injury,  while  I am  un- 
happy ; and  that  it  is  not  right  for  me  to  enjoy  any  pleasure 
here,  until  such  time  as  he  returns  home  safe  to  share  it  with 
me. 

CiiEiai.  I believe  you  to  be  of  an  affectionate  disposition 

* Provide  me  with  dress') — Vcr.  130.  It  was  the  custom  for  the  mis- 
tress and  female  servants  in  each  family  to  make  the  clothes  of  the 
master.  Thus  in  the  Easti  of  Ovid,  B.  ii.,  1.  746,  Lucretia  is  found 
amidst  her  female  servants,  making  a cloak,  or  “ lacerna,”  for  her  lius- 
band.  Suetonius  says  that  Augustus  refused  to  wear  any  garments  not 
woven  by  his  female  relations.  Cooke  seems  to  think  that  “vestiant” 
alludes  to  the  very  act  of  putting  the  clothes  upon  a person.  He  says, 
“The  better  sort  of  people  had  eating-dresses,  which  are  here  alluded 
to.  These  dresses  were  light  garments,  to  put  on  as  soon  as  they  had 
bathed.  They  commonly  bathed  before  eating,  and  the  chief  meal  was 
in  the  evening.”  This,  however,  does  not  seem  to  be  the  meaning  of 
the  passage,  although  Colman  has  adopted  it.  We  may  here  remark 
that  the  censure  here  described  is  not  unlike  that  mentioned  in  the  Pro- 
logue to  the  Mercator  of  Plautus,  as  administered  by  Demainetus  to  his 
son  Charinus. 

^ Neither  juovables) — Yer.  141.  “Vas”  is  here  used  as  a general 
name  for  articles  of  furniture.  This  line  appears  to  be  copied  almost 
literally  from  one  of  Menander,  which  still  exists. 

^ To  sell  my  house) — Yer.  145.  On  the  mode  of  advertising  houses 
to  let  or  be  sold  among  the  Romans,  see  the  Trinumnius  of  Plautus,  1. 
163,  and  the  Note  to  the  passage  in  Bohn’s  Translation. 


Sc.  L] 


THE  SELE-TOKMENTOK. 


143 


toward  your  children,^  and  him  to  be  an  obedient  son^  if  one 
were  to  manage  him  rightly  or  prudently.  But  neither  did 
you  understand  him  sufficiently  well,  nor  he  you — a thing  that 
liappens  where  persons  don’t  live  on  terms  of  frankness  to- 
gether. You  never  showed  him  how  highly  you  valued  him, 
nor  did  he  ever  dare  put  that  confidence  in  you  which  is  due 
to  a father.  Had  this  been  done,  these  troubles  would  never 
have  befallen  you. 

Men.  Such  is  the  fact,  I confess ; the  greatest  fault  is  on 
my  side. 

CiiREM.  But  still,  Menedemus,  I hope  for  the  best,  and  I 
trust  that  he’ll  be  here  safe  before  long. 

Men.  Oh  that  the  Gods  would  grant  it ! 

Chrem.  They  will  do  so.  Now,  if  it  is  convenient  to  you — 
the  festival  of  Bacchus^  is  being  kept  here  to-day — I wish  you 
to  give  me  your  company. 


^ Toii'ard  your  children') — Yer.  151.  The  plural  liberos”  is  here  used 
to  signify  the  one  son  which  Menedemus  has.  So  in  the  Hecyra,  1.  217, 
the  same  word  is  used  to  signify  but  one  daughter.  This  was  a common 
mode  of  expression  in  the  times  of  the  earlier  Latin  authors. 

^ Festival  of  Bacchus,  Dionysia'^) — Ver.  1G2.  It  is  generally  sup- 
posed that  there  were  four  Festivals  called  the  Uionysia,  during  the 
year,  at  Athens.  The  first  was  the  Kural,  or  Lesser  Dionysia,  /car’ 
aypovg,  a vintage  festival,  which  was  celebrated  in  the  “Demi”  or  bor- 
oughs of  xYttica,  in  honor  of  Bacchus,  in  the  month  Poseidon.  This 
was  the  most  ancient  of  the  Festivals,  and  was  held  with  the  greatest 
merriment  and  freedom  ; the  slaves  then  enjoyed  the  same  amount  of 
liberty  as  they  did  at  the  Saturnalia  at  Kome.  The  second  Festival, 
which  was  called  the  Lensea,  from  Irjvo^,  a wine-press,  was  celebrated 
in  the  month  Gamelion,  with  Scenic  contests  in  Tragedy  and  Comedy. 
The  third  Dionysian  Festival  was  the  Anthesteria,  or  “Spring  feast,” 
being  celebrated  during  three  days  in  the  month  Anthesterion.  The 
first  day  was  called  mdotyta,  or  “the  Opening  of  the  casks,”  as  on  that 
day  the  casks  were  opened  to  taste  the  wine  of  the  preceding  year.  The 
second  day  was  called  from  cup,”  and  was  probably  de- 

voted to  drinking.  The  third  day  was  csdled  xv^pol,  from  x^rpoc,  “a 
pot,”  as  on  it  persons  offered  pots  with  fiower-seeds  or  cooked  vegeta- 
bles to  Dionysus  or  Bacchus.  The  fourth  Attic  festival  of  Dionysius 
was  celebrated  in  the  month  Elaphebolion,  and  was  called  the  Dionysia 
ev  uaret,  Agtlku,  or  MeyaXa,  the  “City”  or  “great”  festival.  It  was 
celebrated  with  great  magnificence,  processions  and  dramatic  represent- 
ations forming  part  of  the  ceremonial.  From  Greece,  by  way  of  Sicily, 
the  Bacchanalia,  or  festivals  of  Bacchus,  were  introduced  into  Rome, 
where  they  became  the  scenes  of  and  pretext  for  every  kind  of  vice  and 


144 


IIEAUTONTIMORUiVIENOS ; 


[Act  I. 


Men.  I can  not. 

Chrem.  Why  not  ? Do,  pray,  spare  yourself  a little  while. 
Your  absent  son  would  wish  you  do  so. 

Men.  It  is  not  right  that  I,  who  have  driven  him  hence  to 
endure  hardships,  should  now  shun  them  myself. 

CiiREM.  Is  such  your  determination  ? 

Men.  It  is. 

Chrem.  Then  kindly  fare  you  well. 

Men.  And  you  the  same,  {Goes  into  his  house.) 

Scene  II. 

Chremes,  alone. 

Chrem.  {to  himself.)  He  has  forced  tears  from  me,  and  I do 
pity  him.  But  as  the  day  is  far  gone,  I must  remind  Phania, 
this  neighbor  of  inine,  to  come  to  dinner.  I’ll  go  see  whether 
he  is  at  home.  {Goes  to  Phania’s  door,,  makes  the  inqiiimj,  and 
returns.)  There  was  no  occasion  for  me  to  remind  him  : they 
tell  me  he  has  been  some  time  already  at  my  house ; it’s  I 
myself  am  making  my  guests  wait.  I’ll  go  in-doors  imme- 
diately. But  what  means  the  noise  at  the  door  of  my  house 
I wonder  who’s  coming  out ! I’ll  step  aside  here.  {He  stands 
oHde.) 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Clitipho,  from  the  house  of  Chremes. 

Ceit.  {at  the  door,  to  Clinia  ivlthin.)  There  is  nothing,  Clinia, 
for  you  to  fear  as  yet : they  have  not  been  long  by  any  means : 
and  I am  sure  that  she  will  be  with  you  presently  along  with 
the  messenger.  Do  at  once  dismiss  these  causeless  apprehen- 
sions which  are  tormenting  you. 

debauchery,  until  at  length  they  were  put  down  in  the  year  b.c.  187, 
with  a strong  hand,  by  the  Consuls  Spurius  Posthumius  Albinus  and 
Q.  Marcius  Philippus  ; from  which  period  the  words  ‘*bacchor”  and 
“ bacchator”  became  synonymous  with  the  practice  of  every  kind  of  vice 
and  turpitude  that  could  outrage  common  decency.  See  a very  full  ac-  ■ 
count  of  the  Dionysia  and  the  Bacchanalia  in  Dr.  Smith’s  Dictionary  of 
Greek  and  Roman  Antiquities. 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  SELF-T0RME1!!?T01?. 


145 


CiiREM.  (apart,)  Who  is  my  son  talking  to  ? (Makes  his  ap- 
pearance,) 

Clit.  (to  himself,)  Here  conies  my  father,  whom  I wished  to 
see:  I’ll  accost  him.  Father,  you  have  met  me  opportunely. 

Chrem.  What  is  the  matter  ? 

Clit.  Do  you  know  this  neighbor  of  ours,  Menedemus? 

Chrem.  Very  well. 

Clit.  Do  you  know  that  he  has  a son  ? 

Chrem.  I have  heard  that  he  has ; in  Asia. 

Clit.  He  is  not  in  Asia^  father;  he  is  at  our  house. 

Chrem.  What  is  it  you  say  ? 

Clit.  Upon  his  arrival,  after  he  had  just  landed  from  the 
ship,  I immediately  brought  him  to  dine  with  us ; for  from 
our  very  childhood  upward  I have  always  been  on  intimate 
terms  with  him. 

Chrem.  You  announce  to  me  a great  pleasure.  How  much 
I wish  that  Menedemus  had  accepted  my  invitation  to  make 
one  of  us : that  at  my  house  I might  have  been  the  first  to 
surprise  him,  when  not  expecting  it,  with  this  delight ! — and 
even  yet  there’s  time  enough 

Clit.  Take  care  what  you  do  ; there  is  no  necessity,  father, 
for  doing  so, 

Chrem.  For  what  reason? 

Clit.  Why,  because  he  is  as  yet  undetermined  what  to  do 
with  himself.  He  is  but  just  arrived.  He  fears  everything; 
his  father’s  displeasure,  and  how  his  mistress  may  be  disposed 
toward  him.  He  loves  her  to  distraction : on  her  account, 
this  trouble  and  going  abroad  took  place. 

Chrem.  I know  it. 

Clit.  He  has  just  sent  a servant  into  the  city  to  her,  and  I 
ordered  our  Syrus  to  go  with  him. 

Chrem.  What  does  Clinia  say  ? 

Clit.  What  does  he  say  ? That  he  is  wretched. 

Chrem.  Wretched?  Whom  could  we  less  suppose  so? 
What  is  there  wanting  for  him  to  enjoy  every  thing  that 
among  men,  in  fact,  are  esteemed  as  blessings?  Parents,  a 
country  in  prosperity,  friends,  family,  relations,  riches?  And 
yet,  all  these  are  just  according  to  the  disposition  of  him  who 
possesses  them.  To  him  who  knows  how  to  use  them,  they 
are  blessings ; to  him  who  does  not  use  them  rightly,  they  arc 
evils. 


G 


146 


HEAUTONTIMOEUMENOS  ; 


[Act  1 1. 


Clit.  Aye,  but  lie  always  was  a morose  old  man ; and  now 
I dread  nothing  more,  father,  than  that  in  his  displeasure 
he’ll  be  doing  sornetliing  to  him  more  than  is  justifiable. 

CiTKEM.  What,  het  {Aside.)  But  I’ll  restrain  myself;  for 
that  the  other  one  should  be  in  fear  of  his  father  is  of  service 
to  him.^ 

Clit.  What  is  it  you  are  saying  to  yourself? 

CiiREM.  I’ll  tell  you.  However  the  case  stood,  C/m/a  ought 
still  to  have  remained  at  home.  Perhaps  his  father  was  a little 
stricter  than  he  liked:  he  should  have  put  up  with  it.  For 
whom  ought  he  to  bear  with,  if  he  would  not  bear  with  his 
own  father?  Was  it  reasonable  that  he  should  live  after  his 
son's  humor,  or  his  son  after  his?  And  as  to  charging  him 
with  harshness,  it  is  not  the  fact.  For  the  severities  of  fathers 
are  generally  of  one  character,  those  I mean  who  are  in  some 
degree  reasonable  men.^  They  do  not  wish  their  sons  to  be  al- 
ways wenching ; they  do  not  wish  them  to  be  always  carous- 
ing ; they  give  a limited  allowance ; and  yet  all  this  tends  to 
virtuous  conduct.  But  when  the  mind,  Clitipho,  has  once  en- 
slaved itself  by  vicious  appetites,  it  must  of  necessity  follow 
similar  pursuits.  This  is  a wise  maxim,  “ to  take  warning 
from  others  of  what  may  be  to  your  own  advantage,” 

Clit.  I believe  so. 

Chrem.  I’ll  now  go  hence  in-doors,  to  see  what  w'e  have 
for  dinner.  Do  you,  seeing  what  is  the  time  of  day,  mind 
and  take  care  not  to  be  any  where  out  of  the  way,  {Goes  into 
his  house ^ and  exit  Clitipho.) 


ACT  THE  SECOND. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Clitipho. 

Clit.  {to  himself.)  What  partial  judges  are  all  fathers  in 
regard  to  all  of  us  young  men,  in  thinking  it  reasonable  for 

’ Is  oj  service  to  him) — Ver,  199.  He  means  that  it  is  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  Clitipho  that  Clinia  should  be  seen  to  stand  in  awe  of  his 
father. 

2 Reasonable  men) — Ver.  205.  ‘‘Homo/’  “a  man,”  is  here  put  for 
men  in  general  who  are  fathers. 


Sc.  II.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOK. 


147 


us  to^  become  old  men  all  at  once  from  boys,  and  not  to 
participate  in  those  things  which  youth  is  naturalaj  inclined 
to.  They  regulate  us  by  their  own  desires, — sucli  as  they 
now  are, — not  as  they  once  v/ere.  If  ever  I have  a son, 
lie  certainly  shall  find  in  me  an  indulgent  hither.  For  the 
means  both  of  knowing  and  of  pardoning^  his  faults  shall  be 
found  by  me;  not  like  mine,  who  by  means  of  another  person, 
discloses  to  me  his  own  sentiments.  I’m  plagued  to  death! 
—when  he  drinks  a little  more  than  usual,  what  pranks  of 
his  own  he  does  relate  to  me ! Now  he  says,  “ Take  warn- 
ing from  others  of  what  may  be  to  your  advantage.”  How 
shrewd ! He  certainly  does  not  know  how  deaf  1 am  at  the 
moment  when  he’s  telling  his  stories.  Just  now,  the  words 
of  my  mistress  make  more  impression  upon  me.  ‘‘  Give  me 
this,  and  bring  me  that;'  she  cries;  I have  nothing  to  say 
to  her  in  answer,  and  no  one  is  there  more  wretched  than 
myself.  But  this  Clinia,  although  he,  as  well,  has  cares 
enough  of  his  own,  still  has  a mistress  of  virtuous  and  modest 
breeding,  and  a stranger  to  the  arts  of  a courtesan.  Mine  is 
craving,  saucy,  haughty,  extravagant  creature,  full  of  lofty 
airs.  ^ Then  all  that  I have  to  give  her  is — fair  words^ — for  I 
make  it  a point  not  to  tell  her  that  I have  nothing.  This  mis- 
fortune I met  v/ith  not  long  since,  nor  does  my  father  as  yet 
know  any  thing  of  the  matter.  • (Exit, 


Scene  II. 


Enter  Clinia  from  the  house  of  Ciiremes. 

Clin,  (to  Jwnself)  If  my  love-affairs  had  been  prosperous 
for  me,  I am  sure  she  would  have  been  here  by  this ; but 
I m afraid  that  the  damsel  has  been  led  astray  here  in  my 
absence.  Many  things  combine  to  strengthen  this  opinion  in 
my  mind;  opportunity,  the  place,  her  age,  a worthless  moth- 


^ Of  knowing  and  of  pardoning)— Vqy.  218.  There  is  a iin£?le  in- 
en  eci  lieie  in  the  resemblance  of  the  words  ‘‘ co^noscendi,”  “know- 
ing, and  “ignoscendi,”  ‘‘pardoning.” 

«„*  tcor(is) — Ver.  228.  “Recte  est.”  It  is  supposed  that  he 

1 uses  before  uttering  these  words,  which  mean  “very  well,”  or  “very 
poa,  implying  the  giving  an  assent  without  making  a promise : he 

cLfo^in  * u that  he  has  scruples  or  prejudices  against 

ntessing  that  ho  has  got  nothing  to  give  her. 


[Act  II. 


148  HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; 


er,  under  whose  control  she  is,  with  whom  nothing  but  gain 
is  precious. 

Enter  Clitipho. 

Clit.  Clinia ! 

Clin.  Alas  ! wretched  me ! 

Clit.  Do,  pray,  take  care  that  no  one  coming  out  of  your 
father’s  house  sees  you  here  by  accident. 

Clin.  I will  do  so;  but  really  my  mind  presages  I know 
not  what  misfortune. 

Clit.  Do  you  persist  in  making  up  your  mind  upon  that, 
before  you  know  what  is  the  fact? 

Clin.  Had  no  misfortune  happened,  she  would  have  been 
here  by  this. 

Clit.  She’ll  be  here  presently. 

Clin.  When  will  that  presently  be? 

Clit.  You  don’t  consider  that  it  is  a great  way  from  here.^ 
Besides,  you  know  the  ways  of  women,  while  they  are  bestir- 
ring themselves,  and  while  they  are  making  preparations  a 
whole  year  passes  by. 

'Clin.  O Clitipho,  I’m  afraid 

Clit.  Take  courage.  Look,  here  comes  Dromo,  together 
with  Syrus  : they  are  close  at  hand.  {They  stand  aside.) 


Scene  III. 


Enter  Syrus  and  Dromo,  conversing  at  a distance. 

Syr.  Do  you  say  so  ? 

Dro.  ’Tis  as  I told  you^ — but  in  the  mean  time,  while  we’ve 
been  carrying  on  our  discourse,  these  women  have  been  left 
behind. 

Clit.  (apart.)  Don’t  you  hear,  Clinia?  Your  mistress  is 
close  at  hand. 

Clin,  {apart.)  Why  yes,  I do  hear  now  at  last,  and  I see 
and  revive,  Clitipho. 

Dro.  No  wonder  ; they  are  so  encumbered ; they  are  bring- 
ing a troop  of  female  attendants^  with  them. 


^ Great  way  from  /^ere)— Yer.  239.  That  is,  from  the  place  where 
they  are,  in  the  country,  to  Athens.  ^ 

2 Troop  of  female  attendants)— The  tram  and  expenses  of 
a courtesan  of  hi^h  station  are  admirably^  depicted  in  the  speech  ot 
Lysiteles,  in  the  Trinummus  of  Plautus,  1.  252. 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


149 


Clin,  {apart.)  I’m  undone!  Whence  come  these  female 
attendants  ? 

Clit.  {apart.)  Do  you  ask  rne^ 

Syr.  We  ought  not  to  have  left  them  ; what  a quantity  of 
things  they  are  bringing ! 

Clin,  {apart.)  Ah  me  1 

Syr.  Jewels  of  gold,  and  clothes  ; it’s  growing  late  too,  and 
they  don’t  know  the  way.  It  was  -very  foolish  of  us  to  leave 
them.  Just  go  back,  Dromo,  and  meet  them.  Make  haste — 
why  do  you  delay  ? {Exit  Dromo. 

Clin,  {apart.)  Woe  unto  wretched  me  I — from  what  high 
hopes  am  I fallen  ! 

Clit.  {apart.)  What’s  the  matter?  Wby,  what  is  it  that 
troubles  you? 

Clin,  {apart.)  Do  you  ask  what  it  is?  AVhy,  don’t  you 
see  ? Attendants,  jewels  of  gold,  and  clothes,  her  too,  whom 
I left  here  with  only  one  little  servant  girl.  Whence  do  you 
suppose  that  they  come? 

Clit.  {apart.)  Oh ! now  at  last  I understand  you. 

Syr.  {to  himself.)  Good  Gods  1 what  a multitude  there 
is!  Our  house  will  hardly  hold  them.  I’m  sure.  How  much 
they  will  eat ! how  much  they  will  drink ! what  will  there 
be  more  wretched  than  our  old  gentleman?  {Catching  sight 
of  Clinia  and  Clitipho.)  But  look,  I espy  the  persons  I was 
wanting. 

Clin,  {apart.)  Oh  Jupiter!  Why,  where  is  fidelity  gone? 
While  I,  distractedly  wandering,  have  abandoned  my  country 
for  your  sake,  you,  in  the  mean  time,  Antiphila,  have  been 
enriching  yourself,  and  have  forsaken  me  in  these  troubles, 
you  for  whose  sake  I am  in  extreme  disgrace,  and  have  been 
disobedient  to  my  father;  on  whose  account  I am  now 
ashamed  and  grieved,  that  he  who  used  to  lecture  me  about 
the  manners  of  these  women,  advised  me  in  vain,  and  was  not 
able  to  wean  me  away  from  her : — which,  however,  I shall 
now  do ; whereas  when  it  might  have  been  advantageous  to  me 
to  do  so,  I was  unwilling.  There  is  no  being  more  wretched 
than  I. 

Syr.  {to  himself.)  He  certainly  has  been  misled  by  our  words 
which  we  have  been  speaking  here.  {Aloud.)  Clinia,  you  im- 
agine your  mistress  quite  different  from  what  she  really  is. 
For  both  her  mode  of  life  is  the  same,  and  her  disposition 


150  IIEAUTONTIMORUMENOS;  [Act  II. 

toward  you  is  the  same  as  it  alivays  was ; so  far  as  we  could 
Ibrm  a judgment  from  the  circumstances  themselves. 

Clin.  Ilow  so,  prithee?  For  nothing  in  the  world  could 
I rather  wish  for  just  now,  than  that  I have  suspected  this 
without  reason. 

Syr.  This,  in  the  first  place,  then  (that  you  may  not  he 
ignorant  of  any  thing  that  concerns  her)  ; the  old  woman,  who 
was  formerly  said  to  be  her  mother,  was  not  so. — She  is  dead : 
this  I overheard  by  accident  from  her,  as  we  came  along, 
while  she  was  telling  the  other  one. 

Clit.  Pray,  who  is  the  other  one  ? 

Syr.  Stay;  what  I liave  begun  I wish  first  to  relate,  Cliti- 
pho ; I shall  come  to  that  afterward. 

Clit.  Make  haste,  then, 

Syr.  First  of  all,  then,  when  we  came  to  the  house,  Dromo 
knocked  at  the  door ; a certain  old  woman  came  out ; when 
she  opened  the  door,  he  directly  rushed  in ; I followed ; 
the  old  woman  bolted  the  door,  and  returned  to  her  wool. 
On  this  occasion  might  be  known,  Clinia,  or  else  on  none, 
in  what  pursuits  she  passed  her  life  during  your  absence; 
when  we  thus  came  upon  a female  unexpectedly.  For  this 
circumstance  then  gave  us  an  opportunity  of  judging  of  the 
course  of  her  daily  life ; a thing  which  especially  discovers 
what  is  the  disposition  of  each  individual.  We  found  her 
industriously  plying  at  the  web ; plainly  clad  in  a mourning 
dress, ^ on  account  of  this  old  woman,  I suppose,  who  was 
lately  dead;  without  golden  ornaments,  dressed,  besides,  just 
like  those  who  only  dress  for  themselves,  arid  patched  up  with 
no  worthless  woman’s  trumpery.^  Her  hair  was  loose,  long, 

’ In  a 7nourning  dress) — Yer.  286.  Among  the  Greeks,  in  general, 
mourning  for  the  dead  seems  to  have  lasted  till  the  thirtieth  day  after 
the  funeral,  and  during  that  period  black  dresses  were  worn.  The  Ko- 
mans  also  w^ore  mourning  for  the  dead,  which  seems,  in  the  time  of  the 
Kepublic,  to  have  been  black  or  dark  blue  for  either  sex.  Under  the 
Empire  the  men  continued  to  w^ear  black,  but  the  women  wore  white. 
No  jewels  or  ornaments  were  worn  upon  these  occasions. 

^ With  no  ivorthless  woman’s  trumpery') — Yer.  289.  By  “ nulla  mala 
re  muliebri”  he  clearly  means  that  they  did  not  find  her  painted  up 
with  the  cosmetics  which  some  women  were  in  the  habit  of  using. 
Such  preparations  for  the  face  as  white-lead,  wax,  antimony,  or  ver- 
milion, well  deserve  the  name  of  “ mala  res.”  A host  of  these  cosmetics 
will  be  found  described  in  Ovid’s  Fi'agment  “ On  the  Care  of  the  Com- 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


151 


and  thrown  back  negligently  about  her  temples.  {To  Clinia.) 
Do  you  hold  your  peace.  ^ 

Clin.  My  dear  Syrus,  do  not  without  cause  throw  me  into 
ecstasies,  I beseech  you. 

Syr.  The  old  woman  was  spinning  the  woof:^  there  was 
one  little  servant  girl  besides; — she  was  weaving^  together 
with  them,  covered  with  patched  clothes,  slovenly,  and  dirty 
with  filthiness. 

Clit.  If  this  is  true,  Clinia,  as  I believe  it  is,  who  is  there 
more  fortunate  than  you  ? Do  you  mark  this  girl  whom  he 
speaks  of,  as  dirty  and  drabbish  ? This,  too,  is  a strong  indi- 
cation that  the  mistress  is  out  of  harm’s  way,  when  her  con- 
fidant is  in  such  ill  plight ; for  it  is  a rule  with  those  who 
wish  to  gain  access  to  the  mistress,  first  to  bribe  the  maid. 

Clin,  {to  Syrus.  ) Go  on,  I beseech  you ; and  beware  of 
endeavoring  to  purchase  favor  by  telling  an  untruth.  What 
did  she  say,  when  you  mentioned  me  % 

Syr.  When  we  told  her  that  you  had  returned,  and  had 
requested  her  to  come  to  you,  the  damsel  instantly  put  away 
the  web,  and  covered  her  face  all  over  with  tears;  so  that 


plexion,”  and  much  information  upon  this  subject  is  given  in  various 
passages  in  the  Art  of  Love.  In  the  Remedy  of  Love,  1.  351,  Ovid 
speaks  of  these  practices  in  the  following  terms : “At  the  moment,  too, 
when  she  shall  be  smearing  her  face  with  the  cosmetics  laid  up  on  it, 
you  may  come  into  the  presence  of  your  mistress,  and  don’t  let  shame 
prevent  you.  You  will  find  there  boxes,  and  a thousand  colors  of  ob- 
jects ; and  you  will  see  ‘ cesypum,’  the  ointment  of  the  fleece,  trickling 
down  and  flowing  upon  her  heated  bosom.  These  drugs,  Phineus,  smell 
like  thy  tables ; not  once  alone  has  sickness  been  caused  by  this  to  my 
. stomach.”  Lucretius  also,  in  his  Fourth  Book,  1.  1168,  speaks  of  a fe- 
male who  “ covers  herself  with  noxious  odors,  and  whom  her  female  at- 
tendants fly  from  to  a distance,  and  chuckle  by  stealth.”  See  also  the 
Mostellaria  of  Plautus,  Act  I.,  Scene  3,  1.  135,  where  Philematium  is 
introduced  making  her  toilet  on  the  stage. 

^ Do  hold  your  peace) — Yer.  291.  “Pax,”  literally  “peace!”  in  the 
sense  of  “ Hush  1”  “ Be  quiet  I”  See  the  Notes  to  the  Trinummus  of 
Plautus,  11.  889-891,  in  Bohn’s  Translation. 

^ The  woof) — Yer.  293.  See  an  interesting  passage  on  the  ancient 
, weaving,  in  the  Metamorphoses  of  Ovid,  B.  vi.,  1.  54,  et  seq.  See  also 
I the  Epistle  of  Penelope  to  Ulysses,  in  the  Heroides  of  Ovid,  1.  10,  and 
! the  Note  in  Bohn’s  English  Translation. 

I ^ She  was  weaving) — Yer.  294.  This  line  and  part  of  the  next  are 
I supposed  to  have  been  translated  almost  literally  from  some  lines,  the 
li  composition  of  Menander,  which  are  still  extant. 


152  HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; [Act  II. 

you  might  easily  perceive  that  it  really  was  caused  by  her  af- 
fection for  you. 

Clin.  So  may  the  Deities  bless  me,  I know  not  where  I am 
for  joy!  I was  so  alarmed 

Clit.  But  I was  sure  that  there  was  no  reason,  Clinia. 
Come  now,  Syrus,  tell  me^  in  my  turn,  who  this  other  lady  is. 

Syr.  Your  Bacchis,  whom  we  are  bringing.  ^ 

Clit.  Ila ! What  I Bacchis  ? How  now,  you  rascal ! 
whither  are  you  bringing  her  ? 

Syr.  Whither  am  I bringing  her  ? To  our  house,  to  be 
sure. 

Clit.  What  I to  my  father’s  ? 

Syr.  To  the  very  same. 

Clit.  Oh,  the  audacious  impudence  of  the  fellow ! 

Syr.  Hark’ye,  no  great  and  memorable  action  is  done  with- 
out some  risk. 

Clit.  Look  noiv ; are  you  seeking  to  gain  credit  for  your- 
self, at  the  hazard  of  my  character,  you  rascal,  in  a point, 
where,  if  you  only  make  the  slightest  slip,  I am  ruined? 
What  would  you  be  doing  with  her  ? 

Syr.  But  still 

Clit.  Why  “still?” 

Syr.  If  you’ll  give  me  leave.  I’ll  tell  you. 

Clin.  Do  give  him  leave. 

Clit.  I give  him  leave  then. 

Syr.  This  affair  is  now  just  as  though  when 

Clit.  Plague  on  it,  what  roundabout  story  is  he  beginning 
to  tell  me? 

Clin.  Syrus,  he  says  what’s  right  — do  omit  digressions; 
come  to  the  point. 

Syr.  Really  I can  not  hold  my  tongue.  Clitipho,  you  are 
every  way  unjust,  and  can  not  possibly  be  endured. 

Clin.  Upon  my  faith,  he  ought  to  have  a hearing.  (To 
Clitipho.)  Do  be  silent. 

Syr.  You  wish  to  indulge  in  your  amours;  you  wish  to 
possess  your  mistress;  you  wish  that  to  be  procured  where- 

^ Your  Bacchis,  whom  we  are  bringing) — Ver.  310.  Colman  has  the 
following  remark:  “Here  w^e  enter  upon  the  other  part  of  the  table, 
which  the  Poet  has  most  artfully  complicated  with  the  main  subject  by 
making  Syrus  bring  Clitipho’s  mistress  along  with  Antiphila.  This 
part  of  the  story,  we  know,  was  not  in  Menander.” 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


153 


withal  to  make  her  presents ; in  getting  this^  you  do  not  wish 
the  risk  to  be  your  own.  You  are  not  wise  to  no  purpose, 
— if  indeed  it  is  being  wise  to  wish  for  that  which  can  not 
happen.  Either  the  one  must  be  had  with  the  other,  or  the 
one  must  be  let  alone  with  the  other.  Now,  of  these  two  al- 
ternatives, consider  which  one  you  would  prefer;  although 
this  project  which  I have  formed,  I know  to  be  both  a wise 
and  a safe  one.  For  there  is  an  opportunity  for  your  mistress 
to  be  with  you  at  your  father’s  house,  without  fear  of  a discov- 
er//; besides,  by  these  self-same  means,  I shall  find  the  mon- 
ey which  you  have  promised  her — to  effect  which,  you  have 
already  made  my  ears  deaf  with  entreating  me.  What  would 
you  have  more? 

Clit.  If,  indeed,  this  could  be  brought  about 

Syr.  If,  indeed?  You  shall  know  it  by  experience. 

Clit.  Well,  well,  disclose  this  project  of  yours.  What  is 
it? 

Syr.  We  will  pretend  that  your  mistress  is  his  (pointing  to 
Clinia). 

Clit.  Very  fine!  Tell  me,  what  is  he  to  do  with  his  own? 
Is  she,  too,  to  be  called  his,  as  if  one  was  not  a sufficient  dis- 
credit ? 

Syr.  No — she  shall  be  taken  to  your  mother. 

Clit.  Why  there  ? 

Syr.  It  would  be  tedious,  Clitipho,  if  I were  to  tell  you 
why  I do  so  ; I have  a good  reason. 

Clit.  Stuff!  I see  no  grounds  sufficiently  solid  why  it 
should  be  for  my  advantage  to  incur  this  risk.^  (Turning  as 
if  going,) 

Syr.  Stay ; if  there  is  this  risk,  I have  another  project^ 
which  you  must  both  confess  to  be  free  from  danger. 

Clit.  Find  out  something  of  that  description,  I beseech 
you. 

Syr.  By  all  means  ; I’ll  go  meet  her,  and.  tell  her  to  return 
home. 

Clit.  Ha ! what  was  it  you  said  ? 

Syr.  I’ll  rid  you  at  once  of  all  fears,  so  that  you  may  sleep 
at  your  ease  upon  either  ear.*-^ 

* Incur  this  risk) — Ver.  337.  As  to  his  own  mistress. 

^ Upon  either  ear) — Ver.  342.  ‘‘  In  aurem  utramvis,”  a proverbial 
expression,  implying  an  easy  and  secure  repose.  It  is  also  used  bv 

G 2 


154 


IlEAUTONTIMORUiVIENOS ; 


[Act  II. 


Clit.  What  am  I to  do  now  ? 

Clin.  What  are  you  to  do?  The  goods  that 

Clit.  Only  tell  me  the  truth,  Syrus. 

Syr.  Dispatch  quickly;  you’ll  be  wishing  just  now  too 
late  and  in  vain.  (Going.) 

Clin.  The  Gods  provide,  enjoy  while  you  may;  for  you 
know  not 

Clit.  (calling.)  Syrus,  Isay! 

Syr.  (moving  on.)  Go  on;  I shall  still  do  that  which  1 
said.^ 

Clin.  Whether  you  may  have  another  opportunity  hereaft- 
er or  ever  again. 

Clit.  I’faith,  that’s  true.  (Calling.)  Syrus,  Syrus,  I say, 
harkye,  harkye,  Syrus ! 

Syr.  (aside.)  He  warms  a little.  (To  CLiTinio.)  What  is 
it  you  want  ? 

Clit.  Come  back,  come  back. 

Syr.  (coming  hade  to  him.)  Here  I am ; tell  me  what  you 
would  have.  You’ll  be  presently  saying  that  this,  too,  doesn’t 
please  you. 

Clit.  Nay,  Syrus,  I commit  myself,  and  my  love,  and  my 
reputation  entirely  to  you  : you  are  the  seducer ; take  care  you 
don’t  deserve  any  blame. 

Syr.  It  is  ridiculous  for  you  to  give  me  that  caution, 
Clitipho,  as  if  my  interest  was  less  at  stake  in  this  affair  than 
yours.  Here,  if  any  ill  luck  should  perchance  befall  us, 
words  will  be  in  readiness  for  you,  hut  for  this  individual 
blows  (pointing  to  himself).  For  that  reason,  this  matter  is 
by  no  means  to  be  neglected  on  my  part:  but  do  prevail  upon 
him  (pointing  to  Clinia)  to  pretend  that  she  is  his  own  mis- 
tress. ^ 

Clin.  You  may  rest  assured  I’ll  do  so.  The  matter  has 
now  come  to  that  pass,  that  it  is  a case  of  necessity. 

Clit.  ’Tis  with  good  reason  that  I love  you,  Clinia. 

Plautus,  and  is  found  in  a fragment  of  the  HIoklov,  or  Necklace,  a 
Comedy  of  Menander. 

^ Still  do  that  which  I said) — Ver.  346.  ‘‘Perge  porro,  tamen  istuc 
ago.”  Stallbaum  observes  that  the  meaning  is:  “Although  I’m  going 
off,  I’m  still  attending  to  what  you’re  saying.”  According  to  Schmieder 
and  others,  it  means:  “Call  on  just  as  you  please,  I shall  persist  in 
sending  Bacchis  away.” 


Sc.  111.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


155 


Clin.  But  she  mustn’t  be  tripping  at  all. 

Syk.  She  is  thoroughly  tutored  in  her  part. 

Clit.  But  this  I wonder  at,  how  you  could  so  easily  pre- 
vail upon  her,  who  is  wont  to  treat  such  great  people^  with 
scorn. 

Syr.  I came  to  her  at  the  proper  moment,  which  in  all 
things  is  of  the  first  importance  : for  there  I found  a certain 
wretched  captain  soliciting  her  favors : she  artfully  managed 
the  man,  so  as  to  inflame  his  eager  passions  by  denial ; and 
this,  too,  that  it  might  be  especially  pleasing  to  yourself. 
But  hark  you,  take  care,  will  you,  not  to  be  imprudently 
impetuous.  You  know  your  father,  how  quick-sighted  he  is 
in  these  matters;  and  I know  you,  how  unable  you  are  to 
command  yourself.  Keep  clear  of  words  of  double  mean- 
ing,2  your  sidelong  looks,  sighing,  hemming,  coughing,  tit- 
tering. 

Clit.  You  shall  have  to  commend  me. 

Syr.  Take  care  of  that,  please. 

Clit.  You  yourself  shall  be  surprised  at  me. 

Syr.  But  how  quickly  the  ladies  have  come  up  with  us ! 

Clit.  Where  are  they*?  (Syrus  stands  before  him,)  Why 
do  you  hold  me  back  ? 

Syr.  For  the  present  she  is  nothing  to  you. 

Clit.  I know  it,  before  my  father ; but  now  in  the  mean 
time 

Syr.  Not  a bit  the  more. 

Clit.  Do  let  me. 

Syr.  I will  not  let  you,  I tell  you. 

Clit.  But  only  for  a moment,  pray. 

^ Such  great  people)-^Y  q\\  363.  Quos,”  literally,  “What  per- 
sons!” 

^ Words  of  double  meaning) — Yer.  372.  “ Inversa  verba,  eversas  cer- 
vices tuas.”  “ Inversa  verba”  clearly  means,  words  with  a double  mean- 
ing, or  substituted  for  others  by  previous  arrangement,  like  correspond- 
ence by  cipher.  Lucretius  uses  the  words  in  this  sense,  B.  i.,  1.  643. 
A full  account  of  the  secret  signs  and  correspondence  in  use  among 
the  ancients  will  be  found  in  the  16th  and  17th  Epistles  of  the  Heroides 
of  Ovid,  in  his  Amours,  B.  i.,  El.  4,  and  in  various  passages  of  the  Art 
of  Love.  See  also  the  Asinaria  of  Plautus,  1,  780.  It  is  not  known  for 
certain  what  “ eversa  cervix”  here  means ; it  may  mean  the  turning  of 
the  neck  in  some  particular  manner  by  way  of  a hint  or  to  give  a side- 
long look,  or  it  may  allude  to  the  act  of  snatching  a kiss  on  the  sly, 
which  might  lead  to  a discovery. 


156 


HEAUTONTIMORU.MENOS ; 


[Act  II. 


Syk.  I forbid  it. 

Clit.  Only  to  salute  her. 

8y'r.  If  you  are  wise,  get  you  gone. 

Clit.  I’m  off.  what’s  lie  c/o  ? {Pointing  at  ChmiK,) 

Syr.  He  will  stay  here^ 

Clit.  O happy  man ! 

Syr.  Take  yourself  off.  {Exit  Clitifiio. 

Scene  IV. 

Enter  Bacciiis  and  Antiphila  at  a distance^ 

Bacchis.  Upon  my  word,  my  dear  Antiphila,  I commend 
you,  and  think  you  fortunate  in  having  made  it  your  study 
that  your  manners  should  be  conformable  to  those  good  looks 
of  yours:  and  so  may  the  Gods  bless  me,  I do  not  at  all  won- 
der if  every  man  is  in  love  with  you.  For  your  discourse  has 
been  a proof  to  me  what  kind  of  disposition  you  possess.  And 
when  now  I reflect  in  my  mind  upon  your  way  of  life,  and  that 
of  all  of  you,  in  fact,  who  keep  the  public  at  a distance  from 
yourselves,  it  is  not  surprising  both  that  you  are  of  that  dis- 
position^  and  that  we  are  not;  for  it  is  your  interest  to  be 
virtuous ; those,  with  whom  we  are  acquainted,  will  not  allow 
us  to  he  so.  For  our  lovers,  allured  merely  by  our  beauty, 
court  us  for  that;  when  that  has  faded,  they  transfer  their 
affections  elsewhere;  and  unless  we  have  made  provision  in 
the  mean  time  for  the  future,  we  live  in  destitution.  Now 
with  you,  when  you  have  once  resolved  to  pass  your  life  with 
one  man  whose  manners  are  especially  kindred  to  your  own, 
those  persons^  become  attached  to  you.  By  this  kindly  feel- 
ing, you  are  truly  devoted  to  each  other;  and  no  calamity 
can  ever  possibly  interrupt  your  love. 

Anti.  I know  nothing  about  other  women:  I’m  sure  that 
I have,  indeed,  always  used  every  endeavor  to  derive  my  own 
happiness  from  his  happiness. 

Clin,  {apart,  overhearing  Antiphila.)  Ah!  ’tis  for  that 
reason,  my  Antiphila,  that  you  alone  have  now  caused  me  to 
return  to  my  native  country ; for  while  I was  absent  from 

’ A man  whose  manners — those  persons') — Ver.  393-  Cnjiis — hi;”  a 
change  of  number  by  the  use  of  the  figure  Enallage. 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOH. 


157 


you,  all  other  hardships  which  I encountered  were  light  to 
me,  save  the  being  deprived  of  you. 

Syii.  {apart)  I believe  it. 

Clin,  (apart)  Syrus,  I can  scarce  endure  it  P Wretch  that 
I am,  that  I should  not  be  allowed  to  possess  one  of  such  a 
disposition  at  my  own  discretion ! 

Syr.  Nay,  so  far  as  I understand  your  father,  he  will  for  a 
long  time  yet  be  giving  you  a hard  task. 

Bacch.  Why,  who  is  that  young  man  that’s  looking  at  us  ? 

Anti,  (seeing  Clinia.)  Ah!  do  support  me,  I entreat  you  I 

Baccii.  Prithee,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 

Anti.  I shall  die,  alas ! I shall  die  I 

Baccii.  AVhy  are  you  thus  surprised,  Antiphila? 

Anti.  Is  it  Clinia  that  I see,  or  not  ? 

Bacch.  Whom  do  you  see? 

Clin,  {running  to  embrace  Antiphila.)  Blessings  on  you, 
my  life ! 

Anti.  Oli  my  long- wished  for  Clinia,  blessings  on  you  I 

Clin.  How  fare  you,  my  love  ? 

. Anti.  I’m  overjoyed  that  you  have  returned  safe. 

Clin.  And  do  I embrace  you,  Antiphila,  so  passionately 
longed  for  by  my  soul  ? 

Syr.  GrO  in-doors ; for  the  old  gentleman  has  been  waiting 
for  us  some  time.  (They  go  into  the  house  of  Chremes.) 

* I can  scarce  endure  it) — Ver.  400.  Colman  has  the  following  re- 
mark on  this  passage:  “Madame  Dacier,  contrary  to  the  authority  of 
all  editions  and  MSS.,  adopts  a conceit  of  her  father’s  in  this  place,  and 
places  this  speech  to  Clitipho,  whom  she  supposes  to  have  retired  to  a 
hiding-place,  where  he  might  overhear  the  conversation,  and  from 
whence  he  peeps  out  to  make  this  speech  to  Syrus.  This  she  calls  an 
agreeable  jew  de  theatre,  and  doubts  not  but  all  lovers  of  Terence  will 
be  obliged  to  her  father  for  so  ingenious  a remark;  but  it  is  to  he 
feared  that  critical  sagacity  will  not  be  so  lavish  of  acknowledgments 
as  filial  piety.  There  does  not  appear  the  least  foundation  for  this  re- 
mark in  the  Scene,  nor  has  the  Poet  given  us  the  least  room  to  doubt 
of  Clitipho  being  actually  departed.  To  me,  instead  of  an  agreeable 
jeu  de  theatre,  it  appears  a most  absurd  and  ridiculous  device ; particu- 
larly vicious  in  this  place,  as  it  most  injudiciously  tends  to  interrupt  the 
course  of  Clinia’s  more  interesting  passion,  so  admirably  delineated  in 
this  little  Scene.” 


158 


HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; 


[Act  III. 


ACT  THE  THIRD. 

SciilNE  I. 

Enter'  Ciiremes  from  his  house- 

CuREM.  {to  himself)  It  is  now  daybreak.^  Why  do  I delay 
to  knock  at  my  neighbors  door,  that  he  may  learn  from  me 
the  first  that  his  son  has  returned  t Although  I am  aware 
that  the  youth  would  not  prefer  this.  But  when  I see  him 
tormenting  himself  50  miserably  about  his  absence,  can  I con- 
ceal a joy  so  unhoped  for,  especially  when  there  can  be  no 
danger  to  him  from  the  discovery?  I will  not  do  so ; but  as 
far  as  I can  I will  assist  the  old  man.  As  I see  my  son  aid- 
ing his  friend  and  year’s-mate,  and  acting  as  his  confidant  in 
his  concerns,  it  is  hut  right  that  we  old  men  as  well  should 
assist  each  otlier. 

Enter  MENEDEMUsy/w?2  his  house. 

Men.  {to  himself)  Assuredly  I was  either  born  with  a dis- 
position peculiarly  suited  for  misery,  or  else  that  saying  which 
I hear  commonly  repeated,  that  “time  assuages  human  sor- 
row,” is  false.  For  really  my  sorrow  about  my  son  increases 
daily ; and  the  longer  he  is  away  from  me,  the  more  anxious- 
ly do  I wish  for  him,  and  the  more  I miss  him. 

CiiKE.Ai..  ^part^  But  I see  him  coming  out  of  his  house ; I’ll 
go  speak  to  him.  Menedemus,  good-morrow ; I bring 

you  news,  which  you  would  especially  desire  to  be  imparted. 

Men.  Pray,  have  you  heard  any  thing  about  my  son, 
Chremes  ? 

Chrem.  He’s  alive,  and  well. 

Men.  Why,  where  is  he,  pray? 

^ It  is  now  daybreak) — Yer.  410.  Though  this  is  the  only  Play  which 
includes  more  than  one  day  in  the  action,  it  is  net  the  only  one  in  which 
the  day  is  represented  as  breaking.  The  Amphitryon  and  the  Curculio 
of  Plautus  commence  before  daybreak,  and  the  action  is  carried  on  into 
the  middle  of  the  day.  Madame  Bacier  absolutely  considers  it  as  a 
fact  beyond  all  doubt^  that  the  Roman  Audience  went  home  after  the 
first  two  Acts  of  the  Play,  and  returned  for  the  representation  of  the 
third  the  next  morning  at  daybreak.  Scaliger  was  of  the  same  opinion ; 
but  it  is  not  generally  entertained  by  Commentators. 


So.  I.] 


THE  SELF-TOHMENTOK. 


159 


Chkem.  ITere,  at  iny  house,  at  home. 

Men.  My  son  ? 

CnRE3i.  Such  is  the  fact. 

Men.  Come  home? 

Chrem.  Certainly. 

Men.  My  son,  Clinia,  come  home  ? 

Chrem.  I say  so. 

Men.  Let  us  go.  Lead  me  to  him,  I beg  of  you. 

Chrem.  He  does  not  wish  you  yet  to  know  of  his  return, 
and  he  shuns  your  presence ; he’s  afraid  that,  on  account  of 
that  fault,  your  former  severity  may  even  be  increased. 

Men.  Did  you  not  tell  him  how  I was  affected 

Chrem.  No 

Men.  For  what  reason,  Chremes? 

Chrem.  Because  there  you  would  judge  extremely  ill  both 
for  yourself  and  for  him,  if  you  were  to  show  yourself  of  a 
spirit  so  weak  and  irresolute. 

Men.  I can  not  help  it : enough  already,  enough,  have  I 
proved  a rigorous  father. 

Chrem.  Ah  Menedemus  ! you  are  too  precipitate  in  either 
extreme,  either  with  profuseness  or  with  parsimony  too  great. 
Into  the  same  error  will  you  fall  from  the  one  side  as  from 
the  other.  In  the  first  place,  formerly,  rather  than  allow 
your  son  to  visit  a young  woman,  who  was  then  content  with 
a very  little,  and  to  whom  any  thing  was  acceptable,  you 
frightened  him  away  from  here.  After  that,  she  began,  quite 
against  her  inclination,  to  seek  a subsistence  upon  the  town. 
Now,  when  she  can  not  be  supported  without  a great  expense, 
you  are  ready  to  give  any  thing-  For,  that  you  may  know 
how  perfectly  she  is  trained  to  extravagance,  in  the  first  place, 
she  has  already  brought  with  her  more  than  ten  female  at- 
tendants, aZZ  laden  with  clothes  and  jewels  of  gold;  if  a satrap^ 
had  been  her  admirer,  he  never  could  support  her  expenses, 
much  less  can  you. 

Men.  Is  she  at  your  house  ? 

Chrem.  Is  she,  do  you  ask  % I have  felt  it ; for  1 have 

^ How  I was  affected) — Ver.  43G.  “ Ut  essem,”  literally,  “How  I 
was.” 

^ If  a satrap) — Ver.  452.  “ Satrapa”  w^as  a Persian  word  signifying 
“a  ruler  of  a province.”  The  name  was  considered  as  synonymous 
witli  “possessor  of  wealth  almost  inexhaustible.” 


160 


HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; 


[Act  III. 


given  her  mid  her  retinue  one  dinner ; had  I to  give  them 
another  such,  it  would  be  all  over  vnth  me;  for,  to  pass  by 
other  matters,  what  a quantity  of  wine  she  did  consume  for 
me  in  tasting  only,^  saying  thus,  “ This  wine  is  too  acid,‘^ 
respected  sir,^  do  please  look  for  something  more  mellow.” 
I opened  all  the  casks,  all  the  vessels;”  she  kept  all  on  the 
stir:  and  this  hut  a single  night.  What  do  you  suppose 
will  become  of  you  when  they  are  constantly  preying  upon 
you?  So  may  the  Gods  prosper  me,  Menedemus,  I do  pity 
your  lot. 

Men.  Let  him  do  what  he  will ; let  him  take,  waste,  and 
squander;  I’m  determined  to  endure  it,  so  long  as  I only  have 
liim  with  me. 


^ In  tasting  only) — Ver.  457.  “ Pytiso”  was  the  name  given  to  tlie 
nasty  practice  of  tasting  wine,  and  then  spitting  it  out ; offensive  in  a 
man,  but  infinitely  more  so  in  a woman.  It  seems  in  those  times 
to  have  been  done  by  persons  who  wished  to  give  themselves  airs  in 
the  houses  of  private  persons ; at  the  present  day  it  is  probably  confined 
to  wine-vaults  and  sale-rooms  where  wine  is  put  up  to  auction,  and  even 
tiiere  it  is  practiced  much  more  than  is  either  necessary  or  agreeable. 
Doubtless  Bacchis  did  it  to  show  her  exquisite  taste  in  the  matter  of 
wines. 

^ Is  too  acid) — Yer.  458.  ‘‘Asperum;”  meaning  that  the  wine  was 
not  old  enough  for  her  palate.  The  great  fault  of  the  Greek  wines  was 
their  tartness,  for  which  reason  sea-water  was  mixed  with  them  all  ex- 
(•e])t  the  Chian,  which  was  the  highest  class  of  wine. 

^ Respected  sir) — Ver.  459.  ‘‘Pater,”  literally  “father;”  a title  by 
wliich  the  young  generally  addressed  aged  persons  who  were  strangers 
to  them. 

^ All  the  casks,  all  the  vessels) — Yer.  460.  “Dolia  omnia,  omnes  se- 
rias.”  The  finer  kinds  of  wine  were  drawn  off  from  the  “ dolia,”  or 
large  vessels,  into  the  “amphorie,”  which,  like  the  “dolia,”  were  made 
of  earth,  and  sometimes  of  glass.  The  mouths  of  the  vessels  were 
stopped  tight  by  a plug  of  wood  or  cork,  which  was  made  impervious  to 
the  atmosphere  by  being  rubbed  over  with  a composition  of  pitch,  clay, 
wax,  or  gypsum.  On  the  outside,  the  title  of  the  wine  was  painted, 
and  among  the  Eomans  the  date  of  the  vintage  was  denoted  by  the 
names  of  the  Consuls  then  in  office.  When  the  vessels  were  of  glass, 
small  tickets  or  labels,  called  “ pittacia,”  were  suspended  from  them, 
stating  to  a similar  effect.  The  “ seriaj”  were  much  the  same  as  the 
“ dolia,”  perhaps  somewhat  smaller  ; they  were  both  long,  bell-mouthed 
vessels  of  earthen-ware,  formed  of  the  best  clay,  and  lined  with  pitch 
while  hot  from  the  furnace.  “ Seriie”  were  also  used  to  contain  oil  and 
other  liquids ; and  in  the  Captivi  of  Plautus  the  word  is  applied  to  pans 
used  for  the  purpose  of  salting  meat.  “ Relino”  signifies  the  act  of  tak-  4 
ing  the  seal  of  pitch  or  wax  off  the  stopper  of  the  wine-vessel. 


Sc.  I.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


IGl 


CiiREM.  If  it  is  your  determination  thus  to  act,  I hold  it  to 
be  of  very  great  moment  that  he  should  not  be  aware  that 
with  a full  knowledge  you  grant  him  this. 

Men.  What  shall  I do  ? 

CiiREM.  Any  thing,  rather  than  what  you  are  thinking  of ; 
supply  him  with  money  through  some  other  person ; suiter 
yourself  to  be  imposed  upon  by  the  artifices  of  his  servant : 
although  I have  smelt  out  this  too,  that  they  are  about  that, 
and  are  secretly  planning  it  among  them.  Syrus  is  always 
whispering  with  that  servant  of  yours  they  impart  their 
plans  to  the  young  men ; and  it  were  better  for  you  to  lose  a 
talent  this  way,  than  a mina  the  other.  The  money  is  not 
the  question  now,  but  this — in  what  way  we  can  supply  it  to 
the  young  man  with  the  least  danger.  For  if  he  once  knows 
the  state  of  your  feelings,  that  you  would  sooner  part  with 
your  life,  and  sooner  with  all  your  money,  than  allow  your 
son  to  leave  you  ; whew  ! what  an  inlet^  will  you  be  opening 
for  his  debauchery ! aye,  and  so  much  so,  that  henceforth  to 
live  can  not  be  desirable  to  you.  For  we  all  become  worse 
through  indulgence.  Whatever  comes  into  his  head,  he’ll  be 
wishing  for ; nor  will  he  reflect  whether  that  which  he  desires 
is  right  or  wrong.  You  will  not  be  able  to  endure  your  es- 
tate and  him  going  to  ruin.'  You  will  refuse  to  supply  him : 
he  will  immediately  have  recourse  to  the  means  by  which  he 
finds  that  he  has  the  greatest  hold  upon  you,  and  threaten 
that  he  will  immediately  leave  you. 

Men.  You  seem  to  speak  the  truth,  and  just  Avhat  is  the 
fact. 

CriREM.  I’faith,  I have  not  been  sensible  of  sleep  this  night 
Avith  my  eyes,^  for  thinking  of  this — how  to  restore  your  son 
to  you. 

^ With  that  servant  of  yours) — Ver.  473.  Dromo. 

^ What  an  inlet) — Ver.  482.  ‘‘ Fenestram literally,  ‘‘a  window.” 

^ This  night  with  my  eyes) — Ver.  491.  Colman  has  the  following  Note 
here : “ Hedelin  obstinately  contends  from  this  passage,  that  neither 
Chremes  nor  any  of  his  family  Avent  to  bed  the  whole  night ; the  con- 
trary of  which  is  evident,  as  Menage  observes,  from  the  two  next 
Scenes.  For  Avhy  should  Syrus  take  notice  of  his  being  up  so  early,  if 
he  had  never  retired  to  rest  ? Or  would  Chremes  have  reproached 
Clitipho  for  his  behavior  the  night  before,  had  the  feast  never  been  in- 
terrupted ? Eugraphius’s  interpretation  of  these  words  is  natural  and 
obvious,  who  explains  them  to  signify  that  the  anxiety  of  Chremes  to 
restore  Clinia  to  Menedemus  broke  his  rest.” 


1G2  HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS;  [Act  III. 

Men.  {taking  his  hand,)  Give  me  your  right  hand.  I request 
that  you  will  still  act  in  a like  manner,  Chremes. 

Chkem.  I am  i*eady  to  sem'e  ijou. 

Men.  Do  you  know  what  it  is  I now  want  you  to  do? 

Chrem.  Tell  me. 

Men.  As  you  have  perceived  that  they  are  laying  a plan 
to  deceive  me,  that  they  may  hasten  to  complete  it.  I long 
to  give  him  whatever  he  wants : I am  now  longing  to  behold 
him. 

Chrem.  I’ll  lend  my  endeavors.  This  little  business  is  in 
my  way.  Our  neighbors  Simus  and  Crito  are  disputing 
here  about  boundaries ; they  have  chosen  me  for  arbitrator. 
I’ll  go  and  tell  them  that  I can  not  possibly  give  them  my  at- 
tention to-day  as  I had  stated  I would.  I’ll  be  here  imme- 
diately. {Eidt. 

Men.  Pray  do.  {To  himself.)  Ye  Gods,  by  our  trust  in 
you ! That  the  nature  of  all  men  should  be  so  constituted, 
that  they  can  see  and  judge  of  other  men’s  affairs  better  than 
their  own!  Is  it  because  in  our  own  concerns  we  are 
biased  either  with  joy  or  grief  in  too  great  a degree  ? How 
much  wiser  now  is  he  for  me,  tli^n  I have  been  for  my- 
self! 

Be-enter  Chremes. 

Chrem.  I have  disengaged  myself,  that  I might  lend  you 
my  services  at  my  leisure.  Syrus  must  be  found  and  instruct- 
ed by  me  in  this  business.  Some  one,  I know  not  who,  is  com- 
ing out  of  my  house : do  you  step  hence  home,  that  they  may 
not  perceive^  that  we  are  conferring  together.  (Menedemus 
goes  into  his  house.) 

Scene  II. 

Enter  Syrus  f rom  the  house  of  Chremes. 

Syr.  {aloud  to  himself)  Run  to  and  fro  in  every  direction  ; 
still,  money,  you  must  be  found : a trap  must  be  laid  for  the 
old  man. 

^ That  they  may  not  perceive') — Ver.  511.  Madame  Dacier  observes 
that  Chremes  seizes  this  as  a very  plausible  and  necessary  pretense  to 
engage  Menedemus  to  return  home,  and  not  to  his  labors  in  the  field, 
as  he  had  at  first  intended. 


Sc.  IL] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


1G3 


Chrem.  {apart,  overhearing  him.)  Was  I deceived  in  saying 
that  they  were  planning  this"?  That  servant  of  Clinia’s  is 
somewhat  dull;  therefore  that  province  has  been  assigned  to 
this  one  of  ours. 

Syr.  {in  a low  voice.)  Who’s  that  speaking?  {Catches  sight 
of  Chremes.)  I’m  undone ! Did  he  hear  it,  I wonder  ? 

Chrem.  Syrus. 

Syr.  Well 

Chrem.  What  are  you  doing  here  ? 

Syr.  All  right.  Keally,  I am  quite  surprised  at  you, 
Chremes,  up  so  early,  after  drinking  so  much  yesterday. 

Chrem.  Not  too  much. 

Syr.  Not  too  much,  say  you  ? Keally,  you’ve  seen  the  old 
age  of  an  eagle, ^ as  the  saying  is. 

Chrem.  Pooh,  pooh! 

Syr.  a pleasant  and  agreeable  woman  this  Courtesan. 

Chrem.  Why,  so  she  seemed  to  me,  in  fact. 

Syr.  And  really  of  handsome  appearance. 

Chrem.  Well  enough. 

Syr.  Not  like  those  of  former  days,^  but  as  times  are  now, 
very  passable : nor  do  I in  the  least  wonder  that  Clinia  doats 
upon  her.  But  he  has  a father — a certain  covetous,  miserable, 
and  niggardly  person — this  neighbor  of  ours  {pointing  to  the 
house).  Do  you  know  him  ? Yet,  as  if  he  was  not  abound- 
ing in  wealth,  his  son  ran  away  through  want.  Are  you 
aware  that  it  is  the  fact,  as  I am  saying  ? 

Chrem.  How  should  I not  be  aware?  A fellow  that  de- 
serves the  mill. 

Syr.  Who? 


^ Old  age  of  an  eagle) — Ver.  521.  This  was  a proverbial  expression, 
signifying  a hale  and  vigorous  old  age.  It  has  been  suggested,  too,  that 
it  alludes  to  the  practice  of  some  old  men,  who  drink  more  than  they 
eat.  It  was  vulgarly  said  that  eagles  never  die  of  old  age,  and  that 
when,  by  reason  of  their  beaks  growing  inward,  they  are  unable  to  feed 
upon  their  prey,  they  live  by  sucking  the  blood. 

* Not  like  those  of  former  days) — Yer.  521.  Syrus,  by  showing  him- 
self an  admirer  of  the  good  old  times,  a “ laudator  temporis  acti,”  is 
wishful  to  flatter  the  vanity  of  Chremes,  as  it  is  a feeling  common  to 
old  age,  perhaps  by  no  means  an  unamiable  one,  to  think  former  times 
better  than  the  present.  Aged  people  feel  grateful  to  those  happy  hours 
when  their  hopes  were  bright,  and  every  thing  was  viewed  from  the 
sunny  side  of  life. 


1G4 


HEAUTONTIMORUxMENOS ; 


[Act  hi. 


Chrem.  That  servant  of  the  young  gentleman,  I mean. 

Syr.  {aside.)  Syr  us ! I was  sadly  afraid  for  you. 

Chrem.  To  suffer  it  to  come  to  this ! * 

Syr.  What  was  he  to  do  ? 

Chrem.  Do  you  ask  the  question?  He  ought  to  have 
found  some  expedient,  contrived  some  stratagem,  by  means  of 
which  there  might  have  been  something  for  the  young  man  to 
give  to  his  mistress,  and  thus  have  saved  this  crabbed  old  fel- 
low in  spite  of  himself. 

Syr.  You  are  surely  ]dkmg, 

Chrem.  This  ought  to  have  been  done  by  him,  Syrus. 

Syr.  How  now — pray,  do  you  commend  servants^  who  de- 
ceive their  masters  ? 

Chrem.  Upon  occasion — I certainly  do  commend  them. 

Syr.  Quite  right. 

Chrem.  Inasmuch  as  it  often  is  the  remedy  for  great  dis- 
turbances. Then  would  this  man’s  only  son  have  staid  at 
home. 

Syr.  [aside.)  Whether  he  says  this  in  jest  or  in  earnest,  I 
don’t  know ; only,  in  fact,  that  he  gives  me  additional  zest  for 
longing  still  more  to  trick  him. 

Chrem.  And  what  is  he  now  waiting  for,  Syrus?  Is  it 
until  his  father  drives  him  away  from  here  a second  time, 
when  he  can  no  longer  support  her  expenses?^  Has  he  no 
plot  on  foot  against  the  old  gentleman  ? 

Syr.  He  is  a stupid  fellow. 

C^REM.  Then  you  ought  to  assist  him — for  the  sake  of  the 
young  man. 

Syr.  For  my  part,  I can  do  so  easily,  if  you  command  me ; 
for  I know  well  in  what  fashion  it  is  usually  done. 

Chrem.  So  much  the  better,  i’  faith. 

Syr.  ’Tis  not  my  way  to  tell  an  untruth. 

Chrem.  Do  it  then. 

Syr.  But  hark  you ! Just  take  care  and  remember  this, 
in  case  any  thing  of  this  sort  should  perchance  happen  at  a. 
future  time,  such  are  human  affairs ! — your  son  might  do  the 
same. 

Chrem.  The  necessity  will  not  arise,  I trust. 

Syr.  I’  faith,  and  I trust  so  too:  nor  do  I say  so  now, 

^ Can  no  longer  support  her  expenses) — Ver.  544.  He  refers  to  Mene- 
demus  and  iSacchis. 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOE. 


. 165 


because  I have  suspected  him  in  any  way ; but  in  case,  none 

the  more’ You  see  what  his  age  is;  (aside)  and  truly, 

Chremes,^  if  an  occasion  does  happen,  I may  be  able  to  handle 
you  right  handsomely. 

Chrem.  As  to  that,  we’ll  consider  v/hat  is  requisite  when 
the  occasion  does  happen.  At  present  do  you  set  about  this 
matter.  (Goes  into  his  house.) 

Syr.  (to  himself.)  Never  on  any  occasion  did  I hear  my 
master  talk  more  to  the  purpose ; nor  at  any  time  could  I be- 
lieve that  I was  authorized  to  play  the  rogue  with  greater 
impunity.  I wonder  who  it  is  coming  out  of  our  house? 
(Stands  aside.) 


Scene  III. 

Enter  Chremes  and  Clitipho  from  the  house  of  the  forn^er. 

Chrem.  Pray,  what  does  this  mean  ? What  behavior  is 
this,  Clitipho?  Is  this  acting  as  becomes  you? 

Clit.  What  have  I done? 

Chrem.  Did  I not  see  you  just  noAv  putting  your  hand  into 
this  Courtesan’s  bosom  ? 

Syr.  (apart.)  It’s  all  up  with  us — I’m  utterly  undone ! 

Clit.  What,  I? 

Chrem.  With  these  self-same  eyes  I saiv  it don’t  deny 

it.  Besides,  you  wrong  him  unworthily  in  not  keeping  your 
hands  off : for  indeed  it  is  a gross  affront  to  entertain  a per- 
son, your  friend,  at  your  house,  and  to  take  liberties  with 
his  mistress.  Yesterday,  for  instance,  at  wine,  how  rude  you 
were 

Syr.  (apart.)  ’Tis  the  truth.^ 

^ But  in  case,  none  the  more) — Ver.  555.  ‘‘  Sed  si  quid,  ne  quid.” 
An  instance  of  Aposiopesis,  signifying  ‘‘  But  if  any  thing  does  happen, 
don’t  you  blame  me.” 

2 And  truly,  Chremes) — Ver.  557.  Some  suppose  that  this  is  said  in 
apparent  candor  by  Syrus,  in  order  the  more  readily  to  throw  Chremes 
off  his  guard.  Other  Commentators,  again,  fancy  these  words  to  be 
said  by  Syrus  in  a low  voice,  aside,  which  seems  not  improbable ; it 
being  a just  retribution  on  Chremes  for  his  recommendation,  however 
well  intended : in  that  case,  Chremes  probably  overhears  it,  if  we  may 
judge  from  his  answer. 

2 ’27.9  the  truth) — Ver.  568.  ‘‘Factum.”  “Done  for”  is  another 
translation  Vvhich  this  word  will  here  admit  of. 


166 


HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; 


[Act  III.  ' 


CiiKEM.  How  unnoying  you  were!  So  much  so,  that  for 
my  part,  as  the  Gods  may  prosper  me,  I dreaded  what  in  the 
end  might  be  the  consequence,  I understand  lovers.  They  re- 
sent highly  things  that  you  would  not  imagine. 

Clit.  But  he  lias  fall  confidence  in  me,  father,  that  I would 
not  do  any  thing  of  that  kind. 

CiiREM.  Be  it  so ; still,  at  least,  you  ought  to  go  some- 
where for  a little  time  away  from  their  presence.  Passion 
prompts  to  many  a thing ; your  presence  acts  as  a restraint 
upon  doing  them.  I form  a judgment  from  myself  There’s 
not  one  of  my  friends  this  day  to  whom  I would  venture, 
Clitipho,  to  disclose  all  my  secrets.  With  one,  his  station 
forbids  it ; with  another,  I am  ashamed  of  the  action  itself, 
lest  I may  appear  a fool  or  devoid  of  shame ; do  you  rest 
assured  that  he  does  the  same.^  But  it  is  our  part  to  be 
sensible  of  this;  and,  when  and  where  it  is  requisite,  to  show 
due  ’complaisance. 

Syr.  {coming  forward  and  ichispering  to  Clitipho.)  What  is 
it  he  is  saying? 

Clit.  {aside^  to  Syrus.)  I’m  utterly  undone  I 

Syr.  Clitipho,  these  same  injunctions  I gave  you.  You 
have  acted  the  part  of  a prudent  and  discreet  person.^ 

Clit.  Hold  your  tongue,  I beg. 

Syr.  Very  good. 

Chrem.  {appy'oaching  them.)  Syrus,  I am  ashamed  of  him. 

Syr.  I believe  it ; and  not  without  reason.  Why,  he 
vexes  myself  even. 

Clit.  {to  Syrus.)  Do  you  persist,  then  ? 

Syr.  r faith,  I’m  saying  the  truth,  as  it  appears  to  me. 

Clit.  May  I not  go  near  them  ? 

Chrem.  How  now — pray,  is  there  but  one  way^  of  going 
near  them! 

Syr.  {aside.)  Confusion  I He’ll  be  betraying  himself  before 
I’ve  got  the  money.  {Aloud.)  Chremes,  will  you  give  atten- 
tion to  me,  who  am  but  a silly  person  ? 

Chrem.  What  am  I to  do  ? 

Syr.  Bid  him  go  somewhere  out  of  the  way. 

] That  he  does  the  same) — Yer.  577.  Clinia. 

^ Of  a prudent  and  discreet  person) — Yer.  580.  This  is  said  iron- 
Is  there  hut  one  way) — Yer.  583.  And  that  an  immodest  one. 


Sc.  lU.] 


the  SELF-TORMENTOK. 


167 


Cut.  Where  am  I to  go 

Cr.iT.  Take  a walk  ! where  ? 

CiiREM.  He  says  right,  I’m  of  his  opinion. 

.-.way  from  toe“  «'o 

° <s/C™r  ra!‘7 

-now  (to  Cheejies),  what  do  you  think?  What  do’vo^ 
agme  will  become  of  him  nLt,  unlei,  so  for  as  ti  e Gods' 
afford  you  the  means,  you  watch  him,  correct  and  admonish 

Cheew.  I’ll  take  care  of  that  ' 

HTanTet’e'^ 

l>e  minds  me  less  and  less 

even?  jet 

hafjf  f^i°v  upon  uMcnedemus?  I have-  I 

have  just  hit  upon  one.  J-nave,i 

SrTl’lMeR  ^ f r nie. 

Other matter  arises  out  of*  an- 

Cheem.  Whjr,  what  is  it,  Syrus? 

feTE.  This  Courtesan  is  a very  bad  woman. 

L^HREM.  bo  she  seems. 

Syr.  Aye,  if  you  did  but  know.  O shoekimr'  iii<!t  «oo 
what  she  is  hatehino-  T'lam.-.a  snoeKing.  just  see 

.-from  C«™.b,_.,;u  ik.„/„k"“.“b  “f;uLT“ 

Chrem.  What  then  ? 

nrl  K ^ ^ daughter,  a younr^ 

mm.  as  a pledge  for  thaT 

Cheeji.  I understand  you. 


168 


HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; .[Act  III.,  Sc.  IV.  * 


Syk.  She  has  brought  her  hither  along  with  her,  her  I mean 
who  is  now  with  your  wife.^ 

Chkem.  What  then  ? 

Syr.  She  is  soliciting  Clinia  at  once  to  advance  her  this 
money ; she  says,  however,  that  this  girl  is  to  be  a security, 
that,  at  a future  time,  she  will  repay  the  thousand  pieces  of 

money.  . . 

Chkem.  And  would  she  really  be  a security 
Syr.  Dear  me,  is  it  to  be  doubted  “?  I think  so. 

Chkem.  What  then  do  you  intend  doing? 

Syk.  What,  I?  I shall  go  to  Menedemus ; I’ll  tell  him  she 
is  a captive  from  Caria,  rich,  and  of  noble  family  ; if  he  re- 
deems her,  there  will  be  a considerable  profit  in  this  transac- 
lion. 

Chrem.  You  are  in  an  error. 

Syr.  Why  so^  ' t -n  t. 

Chrem.  I’ll  now  answer  you  for  Menedemus — 1 will  not 

purchase  her. 

Syr.  What  is  it  you  say^  Do  speak  more  agreeably  to 
our  wishes. 

Chrem.  But  there  is  no  occasion, 

Syr.  No  occasion*? 

Chrem.  Certainly  not,  i’  faith. 

Syr.  How  so,  I wonder  *? 

Chrem.  You  shall  soon  know.^ 


^ With  vour  wife)—YGY.  604.  Madame  Dacier  remarks,  that  as  Mm- 
phiia  is  shortly  to  be  acknowledged  as  the  daughter  of  Chremes,  she  is 
not  therefore  in  company  with  the  other  women  at  the  teast,  who  aie 
Courtesans,  but  with  the  wife  of  Chremes,  and  consequently  free  fiom 
reproach  or  scandal. 

2 Would  she  really  he  a security)— Ygy.  606.  The  question  of  Chrenic 
seems  directed  to  the  fact  whether  the  girl  is  of  value  sufficient  to  be 
ffood  security  for  the  thousand  drachma.  , 

= You  shall  soon  fooic)— Ver.  612.  Madame  Dacier  suggests  that 
Chremes  is  prevented  by  his  wife’s  coming  from  making  a proposal  to 
advance  the  money  himself,  on  the  supposition  that  it 
live  speculation.  This  notion  is  contradicted  by  Colman,  who  adds  the 
following  note  from  Eugraphius:  “Syrus  pretends  to  have  concerted 
this  plot  against  Menedemus,  in  order  to  trick  him  out  of  some  moMi 
to  be^  given  to  Clinia’s  supposed  mistress. 

approve  of  this:  yet  it  serves  to  carry  on  the  plot;  for  when  Antiphihi 
proves  afterward  to  be  the  daughter  of  Chremes,  he  necessarily  become, 
the  debtor  of  Bacchis,  and  is  obliged  to  lay  down  the  sum  for  whitli 
imagines  his  daughter  is  pledged.” 


Act  IV.,  Sc.  I.]  THE  SELF-TORMENTOR.  169 

Sye.  Stop,  stop ; what  is  the  reason  that  there  is  such  a 
great  noise  at  our  door?  (They  retire  out  of  sight.) 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Sostkata  and  a Nuese  in  haste  from  the  house  of 

Cheemes,  and  Cheemes  and  Syecs.ow  'the  other  side  of  the 

stage  unperceived,  ^ 

Sos.  (holding  up  a ring  and  examining  it,)  Unless  my  fancy 
deceives  me,  surely  this  is  the  ring  which  I suspect  it  to  be, 
the  same  with  which  my  daughter  was  exposed. 

Chrem.  (apart,)  Syrus,  what  is  the  meaning  of  these  ex- 
pressions % 

Sos.  Nurse,  how  is  it?  Does  it  not  seem  to  you  the 
same  ? 

Nur.  As  for  me,  I said  it  was  the  same  the  very  instant 
that  you  showed  it  me. 

Sos.  But  have  you  now  examined  it  thoroughly,  my  dear 
nurse? 

Nur.  Thoroughly. 

Sos.  Then  go  in-doors  at  once,  and  if  she  has  now  done 
bathing,  bring  me  word.  I’ll  wait  here  in  the  mean  time  for 
my  husband. 

_ Sye.  {apart.)  She  wants  you,  see  what  it  is  she  wants ; she 
IS  in  a serious  mood,  I don’t  know  why ; it  is  not  without  a 
cause 1 fear  what  it  may  be. 

Chrem.  What  it  may  be  ? T faith,  she’ll  now  surely  be  an- 
nouncing some  important  trifle,  with  a great  parade. 

Sos.  (turning  round,)  Ha ! my  husband ! 

Chrem.  Ha ! my  wife ! 

Sos.  I was  looking  for  you. 

Chrem.  Tell  me  what  you  want. 

Sos.  In  the  first  place,  this  I beg  of  you,  not  to  believe 
that  I have  ventured  to  do  any  thing  contrary  to  your  com- 
mands. 

Chrem.  Would  you  have  me  believe  you  in  this,  althoucrh 
so  incredible?  W'ell,  I will  believe  you.  ^ 

H 


170  HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS;  [Act  IV.. 

Syk.  (aside,)  This  excuse  portends  I know  not  what  of- 
fense. 

Sos.  Do  you  remember  me  being  pregnant,  and  yourself 
declaring  to  me,  most  peremptorily,  that  if  I should  bring 
forth  a girl,  you  would  not  have  it  brought  up. 

Chrem.  I know  what  you  have  done,  you  have  brought 
it  up. 

Syr.  (aside.)  Such  is  the  fact,  I'^m  sure:  my  young  master 
has  gained  a loss^  in  consequence. 

Sos.  Not  at  all ; but  there  was  here  an  elderly  woman  of 
Corinth,  of  no  indifferent  character ; to  her  I gave  it  to  be  ex- 
posed. 

Chrem.  O Jupiter ! that  there  should  be  such  extreme  folly 
in  a personas  mind. 

Sos.  Alas ! what  have  I done 

Chrem.  And  do  you  ask  the  question'? 

Sos.  If  I have  acted  wrong,  my  dear  Chremes,  I have  done 
so  in  ignorance. 

Chrem.  This,  indeed,  I know  for  certain,  even  if  you  were 
to  deny  it,  that  in  every  thing  you  both  speak  and  act  igno- 
rantly and  foolishly : how  many  blunders  you  disclose  in  this 
single  affair ! F or,  in  the  first  place,  then,  if  you  had  been 
disposed  to  obey  my  orders,  the  child  ought  to  have  been  dis- 
patched ; you  ought  not  in  words  to  have  feigned  her  death, 
and  in  reality  to  have  left  hopes  of  her  surviving.  But  that 
I pass  over ; compassion,  maternal  affection,  I allow  it.  But 
how  finely  you  did  provide  for  the  future ! What  was  your 
meaning  % Do  reflect.  It’s  clear,  beyond  a doubt,  that  your 
daughter  was  betrayed  by  you  to  this  old  woman,  either  that 
through  you  she  might  make  a living  by  her,  or  that  she 
might  be  sold  in  open  market  as  a slave.  I suppose  you  rea- 
soned thus : any  thing  is  enough,  if  only  her  life  is  saved 
what  are  you  to  do  with  those  who  understand  neither  law, 
nor  right  and  justice'?  Be  it  for  better  or  for  worse,  be  it  for 
them  or  against  them,  they  see  nothing  except  just  what  they 
please. 

Sos.  My  dear  Chremes,  I have  done  wrong,  I own ; I am 
convinced.  Now  this  I beg  of  you ; inasmuch  as  you  are 

^ lias  gained  a loss) — Ver.  628.  He  alludes  to  Clitipho,  who,  by  the 
discovery  of  his  sister,  would  not  come  in  for  such  a large  share  of  his 
father’s  property,  and  would  consequently,  as  Syrus  observes,  gain  a loss. 


Sc.  L] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


371 


more  advanced  in  years  than  I,  be  so  much  the  more  ready  to 
torgive;  so  that  your  justice  may  be  some  protection  for  mv 
weakness.  ^ 

Cheem.  ni  readily  forgive  you  doing  this,  of  course;  but 
bostrata,  my  easy  temper  prompts  you  to  do  amiss.  IJut’ 
whatever  this  circumstance  is,  by  reason  of  which  this  was  be- 
gun  upon,  proceed  to  tell*  it. 

Sos.  As  we  women  are  all  foolishly  and  wretchedly  super- 
stitious, when  I delivered  the  child  to  her  to  be  exposed  I 
drew  a ring  from  off  my  finger,  and  ordered  her  to  expose ’it 
together  with  the  child;  timt  if  she  should  die,  she  might  not 
be  without  some  portion  of  our  possessions. 

Cheem.  That  was  right ; t/iereJy  you  proved  the  savins  of 
yourselt  and  her.  2 ® 

Sos.  {holding  out  the  ring.)  This  is  that  ring. 

Chrem.  Wlicnce  did  you  get  it? 

wiA  Bacchis  brought  here 

Syr.  {aside,)  Ha! 

CiiREM.  What  does  she  say  ? 

went  to 

bathe.  At  first  I paid  no  attention  to  it;  but  after  I looked 
at  It,  i at  once  recognized  it,  and  came  running  (o  you. 

Cheem.  What  do  you  suspect  now,  or  have  you  discovered, 
relative  to  her  ? ./  ? 

Sos.  I don’t  know;  unless  you  inquire  of  herself  whence 
sue  got  it,  II  that  can  possibly  be  discovered. 

That  she  might  not  be  without)— Ver.  652.  Madame  Dacier  obsei-vpi 
upon  this  passage,  that  the  ancients  thought  themselves  guilty  of  a 
‘heir  childreS  to  die  withouthaving  he- 
toZof  Z wen  property;  it  was  consequently  thecus- 

iewel  m- Hinhp?  ’ children,  to  attach  to  them  some 

jewel  01  tunket  among  their  clothes,  hoping  thereby  to  avoid  incurring 
he  guilt  above  mentioned,  and  to  ease  their  consciences. 

bavtng  oj  yourself  and  her)—Ve.r.  653.  Madame  Dacier  savs  that 
ng  Sve“th1s°rinr  S®  = Chremes  tells  his  wife  that  by  hav- 

ioth%arp5  L *"'®  instead  of  one— she  has 

I 0th  Cleared  her  conscience  and  saved  the  child ; for  had  there  been  no 

' he^troubirof?F°'^''''‘''  *’'®.’"ifn‘> ‘he  finder  would  not  have  been  at 
ne  trouble  of  taking  care  of  it,  but  might  have  left  it  to  nerish  never 

iXv1ni;[Jemdit?  Wnrself  liberally  reivarded 


172 


HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; 


[Act  IV.- 


Syr.  (aside,)  I’m  undone  ! I see  more  liopes^  from  this  in-- 
cident  than  I desire.  If  it  is  so,  she  certainly  must  be  ours. 

Chrem.  Is  this  ivoman  living  to  whom  you  delivered  the 
child  ? 

Sos.  I don’t  know. 

CuREM.  What  account  did  she  bring  you  at  the  time  ? 

Sos.  That  she  had  done  as  I had -ordered  her. 

Chreisi.  Tell  me  what  is  the  woman’s  name,  that  she  may 
be  inquired  after. 

Sos.  Philtere. 

Syr.  (aside.)  ’Tis  the  very  same.  It’s  a wonder  if  she 
isn’t  found,  and  I lost. 

Chrem.  Sostrata,  follow  me  this  way  in-doors. 

Sos.  How  much  beyond  my  hopes  has  this  matter  turned 
out ! Plow  dreadfully  afraid  I was,  Chremes,  that  you  would 
now  be  of  feelings  as  unrelenting  as  formerly  you  were  on  ex- 
posing the  child. 

Chrem.  Many  a time  a man  can  not  be*^  such  as  he  would 
be,  if  circumstances  do  not  admit  of  it.  Time  has  now  so 
brought  it  about,  that  I should  be  glad  of  a daughter ; former- 
ly I wished  for  nothing  less. 

(Chremes  and  Sostrata  go  into  the  house.) 

Scene  II. 

Syrus 

Syr.  Unless  my  fancy  deceives  me,^  retribution^  will  not 

’ 1 see  more  hopes) — Ver.  659.  Sjrus  is  now  alarmed  that  Antiphiia 
should  so  soon  be  acknowledged  as  the  daughter  of  Chremes,  lest  he 
may  lose  the  opportunity  of  obtaining  the  money,  and  be  punished  as 
well,  in  case  the  imposition  is  detected,  and  Bacchis  discovered  to  be 
the  mistress  of  Clitipho  and  not  of  Clinia. 

^ A man  can  not  he) — Ver.  666.  This  he  says  by  way  of  palliating 
the  cruelty  he  was  guilty  of  in  his  orders  to  have  the  child  put  to 
death. 

^ Unless  my  fancy  deceives  me) — Ver.  668.  “Nisi  me  animus  fallit.” 
He  comically  repeats  the  very  same  words  with  which  Sostrata  com- 
menced in  the  last  Scene. 

^ Retribution) — Ver.  668.  “ Infortunium!”  was  the  name  by  which 
the  slaves  commonly  denoted  a beating.  Colman  has  the  following 
remark  here : “ Madame  Dacier,  and  most  of  the  later  critics  who  have 
implicitly  followed  her,  tell  us  that  in  the  interval  between  the  third 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


173 


be  very  far  off  from  me ; so  much  by  this  incident  are  my 
forces  now  utterly  driven  into  straits ; unless  I contrive  by 
some  means  that  the  old  man  mayn’t  come  to  know  that 
this  damsel  is  his  son’s  mistress.  For  as  to  entertaining 
any  hopes  about  the  money,  or  supposing  I could  cajole  him, 
it’s  useless ; I shall  be  sufficiently  triumphant,  if  I’m  allowed 
to  escape  with  my  sides  covered.^  I’m  vexed  that  such  a 
tempting  morsel  has  been  so  suddenly  snatched  away  from 
my  jaws.  What  am  I to  do?  Or  what  shall  I devise?  I 
must  begin  upon  my  plan  over  again.  Nothing  is  so  dilFi- 
cult,  but  that  it  may  be  found  out  by  seeking.  What  now 
if  I set  about  it  after  this  fashion.  {He  considers,)  That’s  of 
no  use.  What,  if  after  this  fashion?  I etfect  just  about 
the  same.  But  this  I think  will  do.  It  can  not.  Yes! 
excellent.  Bravo  I I’ve  found  out  the  best  of  all — I’  faith,  I 
do  believe  that  after  all  I shall  lay  hold  of  this  same  run- 
away money.2 


Scene  III. 

Enter  Clinia  at  the  other  side  of  the  stage. 

Clin,  {to  himself.)  Nothing  can  possibly  henceforth  befall 


and  fourth  Acts,  Syrus  has  been  present  at  the  interview  between 
Chremes  and  Antiphila  within.  The  only  difficulty  in  this  doctrine  is 
how  to  reconcile  it  to  the  apparent  ignorance  of  Syrus,  which  he  dis- 
covers at  the  entrance  of  Clinia.  But  this  objection,  says  she,  is  easily 
answered.  Syrus  having  partly  heard  Antiphila’s  story,  and  finding 
things  likely  to  take  an  unfavorable  turn,  retires  to  consider  what  is 
best  to  be  done.  But  surely  this  is  a most  unnatural  impatience  at  so 
critical  a conjuncture  ; and,  after  all,  would  it  not  be  better  to  take  up 
the  matter  just  where  Terence  has  left  it,  and  to  suppose  that  Syrus 
knew  nothing  more  of  the  affair  than  what  might  be  collected  from  the 
late  conversation  between  Chremes  and  Sostrata,  at  which  we  know  he 
was  present  ? This  at  once  accounts  for  his  apprehensions,  which  he 
betrayed  even  during  that  Scene,  as  well  as  for  his  imperfect  knowl- 
edge of  the  real  state  of  the  case,  till  apprised  of  the  whole  by  Clinia.” 

^ With  my  sides  covered) — Yer.  673.  He  most  probably  alludes  to  the 
custom  of  tying  up  the  slaves  by  their  hands,  after  stripping  them  naked, 
Vvhen  of  course  their  “ latera”  or  “ sides”  would  be  exposed,  and  come 
^ in  for  a share  of  the  lashes. 

“ Runaway  money) — Yer.  678.  “Fugitivum  argentum.”  Madame 
, Dacier  suggests  that  this  is  a bad  translation  of  the  words  of  Menander, 
which  were  ^^dTToarpe'ijjeiv  rov  dpaTverav  yvherQ  signi- 

fied both  ‘‘gold”  and  the  name  of  a slave. 


'4 


174  HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; [Act  IV.' 

me  of  such  consequence  as  to  cause  me  uneasiness ; so  ex- 
treme is  this  joy  that  has  surprised  me.  Now  then  I shall 
give  myself  up  entirely  to  my  father,  to  be  more  frugal  than 
even  he  could  wish. 

Syr.  (apart,)  I wasn’t  mistaken ; she  has  been  discovered, 
so  far  as  I understand  from  these  words  of  his.  (Advancing,) 
I am  rejoiced  that  this  matter'  has  turned  out  for  you  so  much 
to  your  wish. 

Clin.  O my  dear  Syrus,  have  you  heard  of  it,  pray? 

Syr.  How  shouldn’t  I,  when  I was  present  all  the 
while  ? 

Clin.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  any  thing  falling  out  so  fortu- 
nately for  any  one? 

Syr.  Never. 

Clin.  And,  so  may  the  Gods  prosper  me,  I do  not  now  re- 
joice so  much  on  my  own  account  as  hers,  whom  I know  to 
be  deserving  of  any  honor. 

Syr.  I believe  it:  but  now,  Clinia,  come,  attend  to  me 
in  my  turn.  For  your  friend’s  business  as  well, — it  must  be 
seen  to — that  it  is  placed  in  a state  of  security,  lest  the  old 
gentleman  should  now  come  to  know  any  thing  about  his  mis- 
tress. 

Clin.  O Jupiter ! 

Syr.  Do  be  quiet. 

Clin.  My  Antiphila  will  be  mine. 

Syr.  Do  you  still  interrupt  me  thus  ? 

Clin.  What  can  I do?  My  dear  Syrus,  I’m  transported 
with  joy ! Do  bear  with  me. 

Syr.  r faith,  I really  do  bear  with  you. 

Clin.  We  are  blest  with  the  life  of  the  Gods. 

Syr.  I’m  taking  pains  to  no  purpose,  I doubt. 

Clin.  Speak;  I hear  you. 

Syr.  But  still  you’ll  not  mind  it. 

Clin.  I will. 

Syr.  This  must  .be  seen  to,  I say,  that  your  friend’s  busi- 
ness as  well  is  placed  in  a state  of  security.  For  if  you  now 
go  away  from  us,  and  leave  Bacchis  here,  our  old  man  will 
immediately  come  to  know  that  she  is  Clitipho’s  mistress ; if 
you  take  her  away  with  you,  it  will  be  concealed  just  as  much 
as  it  has  been  hitherto  concealed. 

Clin.  But  still,  Syrus,  nothing  can  make  more  against  my 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


Sc.  III.] 


175 


marriage  than  this;  for  with  what  face  am  I to  address  my 
father  about  it  f You  understand  what  I mean  % 

Syr.  Why  not? 

Clin.  What  can  I say  ? What  excuse  can  I make  ? 

Syr.  Nay,  I don’t  want  you  to  dissemble ; tell  him  the 
whole  case  just  as  it  really  is. 

Clin.  What  is  it  you  say  ? 

Syr.  I bid  you  do  this;  tell  him  that  you  are  in  love  with 
her,  and  want  her  for  a wife  : that  this  Bacchis  is  Clitipho’s 
mistress. 

Clin.  You  require  a thing  that  is  fair  and  reasonable,  and 
easy  to  be  done.  And  I suppose,  then,  you  would  have  me 
request  my  father  to  keep  it  a secret  from  your  old  man. 

Syr.  On  the  contrary;  to  tell  him  directly  the  matter  just 
as  it  is. 

Clin.  What  ? Are  you  quite  in  your  senses  or  sober  ? 
Why,  you  were  for  ruining  him  outright.  For  how  could  he 
be  in  a state  of  security  ? Tell  me  that. 

Syr.  For  my  part,  I yield  the  palm  to  this  device.  Here  I 
do  pride  myself  exultingly,  in  having  in  myself  such  exquisite 
resources,  and  power  of  address  so  great,  as  to  deceive  them 
both  by  telling  the  truth  : so  that  when  your  old  man  tells 
ours  that  she  is  his  son’s  mistress,  he’ll  still  not  believe  him. 

Clin.  But  yet,  by  these  means  you  again  cut  off  all  hopes 
of  my  marriage ; for  as  long  as  Chvemes  believes  that  she 
is  my  mistress,  he’ll  not  give  me  his  daughter.  Perhaps 
you  care  little  what  becomes  of  me,  so  long  as  you  provide 
for  him. 

Syr.  What  the  plague,  do  you  suppose  I want  this  pre- 
tense to  be  kept  up  for  an  age  ? ’Tis  but  for  a single  day, 
only  till  I have  secured  the  money : you  be  quiet ; I ash  no 
more. 

Clin.  Is  that  sufficient?  If  his  father  should  come  to  know 
of  it,  pray,  what  then  ? 

Syr.  What  if  I have  recourse  to  those  who  say,  What 
now  if  the  sky  were  to  fall? 

^ Tf  the  shy  were  to  fall) — Ver.  719.  He  means  those  who  create  un- 
necessary difficulties  in  their  imagination.  Colman  quotes  the  following 
■remark  from  Patrick:  There  is  a remarkable  passage  in  Arrian’s 
Account  of  Alexander,  lib.  iv.,  where  he  tells  us  that  some  embassadors 


176 


IIEAUTONTIMORUMENOS  ; 


[Act  IV.  • 


Clin.  I’m  afraid  to  go  about  it. 

Syr.  You,  afraid ! As  if  it  was  not  in  your  power  to 
clear  yourself  at  any  time  you  like,  and  discover  the  whole 
matter. 

Clin.  Well,  well ; let  Baccliis  be  brought  over  to  our 
house. 

Syr.  Capital ! she  is  coming  out  of  doors. 


Scene  IV. 

Enter  Bacciiis  and  Phrygia,  from  the  house  of  Chremes. 

Bacch.  {pretending  not  to  see  Clinia  and  Syrus.)  To  a 
very  fine  purpose,^  upon  my  faith,  have  the  promises  of  Syrus 
brought  me  hither,  who  agreed  to  lend  me  ten  min80.  If 
now  he  deceives  me,  oft  as  he  may  entreat  me  to  come,  he 
shall  come  in  vain.  Or  else,  when  I’ve  promised  to  come,  and 
fixed  the  time,  when  he  has  carried  word  back  for  certain, 
and  Clitipho  is  on  the  stretch  of  expectation.  I’ll  disappoint 
him  and  not  come.  Syrus  will  make  atonement  to  me  with 
his  back. 

Clin,  {apart,  to  Syrus.)  She  promises  you  very  fairly. 

• 

from  the  Celtse,  being  asked  by  Alexander  what  in  the  ■w'orld  they 
dreaded  most,  answered,  ‘That  they  feared  lest  the  sky  should  fail 
[upon  them].'  Alexander,  who  expected  to  hear  himself  named,  was 
surprised  at  an  answer  which  signified  that  they  thought  themselves 
beyond  the  reach  of  all  human  power,  plainly  implying  that  nothing 
could  hurt  them,  unless  he  would  suppose  impossibilities,  or  a total 
destruction  of  nature.”  Aristotle,  in  his  Physics,  B.  iv.,  informs  us 
that  it  was  the  early  notion  of  ignorant  nations  that  the  sky  was  sup- 
})orted  on  the  shoulders  of  Atlas,  and  that  when  he  let  go  of  it,  it  would 
fall. 

^ To  a very  fine  purpose') — Ver.  723.  “Satis  pol  proterve,”  &c. 
C.  Lselius  was  said  to  have  assisted  Terence  in  the  composition  of  his 
[days,  and  in  confirmation  of  this,  the  following  story  is  told  by  Cor- 
nelius Nepos  : “ C.  Lselius,  happening  to  pass  the  Matronalia  [a  Festi- 
val on  the  first  of  March,  when  the  husband,  for  once  in  the  year,  was 
bound  to  obey  the  wife]  at  his  villa  near  Puteoli,  was  told  that  dinner 
was  waiting,  but  still  neglected  the  summons.  At  last,  when  he  made 
his  appearance,  he  excused  himself  by  saying  that  he  liad  been  in  a 
])articular  vein  of  composition,  and  quoted  certain  lines  which  occur  in 
the  Heautontimorumenos,  namely,  those  beginning  ‘ Satis  pol  proterve 
me  Syri  promissa  hue  induxerunt.’  ” 


So.  IV.J  THE  SELF-TORMENTOR.  177 

Syr.  {to  Clinia.)  But  do  you  think  she  is  in  jest?  She’ll 
do  it,  if  I don’t  take  care. 

Baccii.  {aside.)  They’re  asleep^ — I’faith,  I’ll  rouse  them. 
{Aloud,)  My  dear  Phrygia,  did  you  hear  about  the  country- 
seat  of  Charinus,  which  that  man  was  showing  us  just  now? 

Phry.  I heard  of  it. 

Bacch.  {aloud.)  That  it  was  the  next  to  the  farm  here  on 
the  right-hand  side.^ 

PiiRY.  I remember. 

Baccii.  {aloud.)  Run  thither  post-haste ; the  Captain  is 
keeping  the  feast  of  Bacchus^  at  his  house. 

Syr.  {apart.)  What  is  she  going  to  be  at  ? 

Bacch.  {aloud.)  Tell  him  I am  here  very  much  against 
my  inclination,  and  am  detained  ; but  that  by  some  means 
or  other  I’ll  give  them  the  slip  and  come  to  him.  (Phry^gia 
moves.) 

Syr.  {coming  forward.)  Upon  my  faith.  I’m  ruined!  Bac- 
chis,  stay,  stay ; prithee,  where  are  you  sending  her  ? Order 
her  to  stop. 

Bacch.  {to  Phry^gia.)  Be  off. 

Syr.  Why,  the  money’s  ready. 

Bacch.  Why,  then  I’ll  stay.  (Phrygia  returns.) 

Syr.  And  it  will  be  given  you  presently. 

Bacch.  Just  when  you  please;  do  I press  you? 

Syr.  But  do  you  know  what  you  are  to  do.  pray  ? 

Bacch.  What?  ^ 

Syr.  You  must  now  go  over  to  the  house  of  Menedemus, 
and  your  equipage  must  be  taken  over  thither. 

Bacch.  What  scheme  are  you  upon,  you  rascal  ? 

Syr.  What,  I ? Coining  money  to  give  you. 

Bacch.  Do  you  think  me  a proper  person  for  you  to  play 
upon? 

^ Tlmjre  asleep) — Ver.  730.  ‘‘  Dormiunt.”  This  is  clearly  used  figur- 
atively, though  Hedelin  interprets  it  literally. 

^ Farm  here  on  the  right-hand  side) — Ver.  732.  Cooke  suggests  that 
the  Poet  makes  Bacchis  call  the  house  of  Charinus  “ villa,”  and  that  of 
Chremes  “ fundus”  (which  signifies  “ a farm-house,”  or  “farm”),  for  the 
purpose  of  exalting  the  one  and  depreciating  the  other  in  the  hearing 
of  %rus. 

^ The  feast  of  Bacchus) — Ver.  733.  This  passage  goes  far  to  prove 
that  the  Dionysia  here  mentioned  as  being  celebrated,  were  those  /car* 
iiyQovc,  or  the  “rural  Dionvsia.” 

II  2 


178 


HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; 


[Act  IV. 


Syr.  It’s  not  without  a purpose. 

Baccii.  {pointing  to  the  house.)  Why,  have  I any  business 
then  with  you  here 

Syr.  O no ; I’m  only  going  to  give  you  what’s  your  own. 

Bacch.  Then  let’s  be  going.^ 

Syr.  Follow  this  way.  {Goes  to  the  door  0/ Menedemus, 
and  calls.)  Ho  there ! Dromo. 

Enter  Dromo  from  the  house, 

Dro.  Who  is  it  wants  me? 

Syr.  Syrus. 

Dro.  What’s  the  matter? 

Syr.  Take  over  all  the  attendants  of  Bacchis  to  your  house 
here  immediately. 

Dro.  Why  so  ? 

Syr.  Ask  no  questions.  Let  them  take  what  they  brought 
here  with  them.  The  old  gentleman  will  hope  his  expenses 
are  lightened  by  their  departure ; for  sure  he  little  knows  how 
much  loss  this  trifling  gain  will  bring  him.  You,  Dromo,  if 
you  are  wise,  know  nothing  of  what  you  do  know. 

Dro.  You  shall  own  that  I’m  dumb.  (Clinia,  Bacchis, 
and  Phrygia  go  into  the  house  of  Menedemus,  and  Dromo 
follows  with  Bacchis’s  retiime  and  baggage.) 

Scene  Y.  ^ 

Enter  Chremes  from  his  house. 

Chrem.  {to  himself.)  So  may  the  Deities  prosper  me,  I am 
now  concerned  for  the  fate  of  Menedemus,  that  so  great  a 
misfortune  should  have  befallen  him.  To  be  maintaining 
that  woman  with  such  a retinue!  Although  I am  well 
aware  he’ll  not  be  sensible  of  it  for  some  days  to  come,  his  son 
was  so  greatly  missed  by  him  ; but  when  he  sees  such  a vast 
expense  incurred  by  him  every  day  at  home,  and  no  limit  to 

^ Let's  he  going) — ^Ver.  742.  Colman  here  remarks  to  the  following 
effect:  “There  is  some  difficulty  in  this  and  the  next  speech  in  the 
original,  and  the  Commentators  have  been  puzzled  to  make  sense  of 
them.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  Poet’s  intention  is  no  more  than  this : 
Bacchis  expresses  some  reluctance  to  act  under  the  direction  of  Syrus, 
but  is  at  length  prevailed  on,  finding  that  he  can  by  those  means  con- 
trive to  pay  her  the  money  which  he  has  promised  her.” 


Sc.  V.]  THE  SELF-TORMENTOK.  179 

it,  he’ll  wish  that  this  son  would  leave  him  a second  time. 
See — here  comes  Syrus  most  opportunely. 

Syr.  {to  himself j as  he  comes  forward.)  Why  delay  to  accost 
him? 

Chrem.  Syrus. 

Syr.  Well. 

Chrem.  How  go  matters  ? 

Syr.  I’ve  been  wishing  for  some  time  for  you  to  be  thrown 
in  my  way. 

Chrem.  You  seem,  then,  to  have  effected  something,  I know 
not  what,  with  the  old  gentleman. 

Syr.  As  to  what  we  were  talking  of  a short  time  since  ? 
No  sooner  said  than  done. 

Chrem.  In  real  earnest  ? 

Syr.  In  real. 

Chrem.  Upon  my  faith,  I can  not  forbear  patting  your  head 
for  it.  Come  here,  Syrus ; I’ll  do  you  some  good  turn  for 
this  matter,  and  with  pleasure.  {Patting  his  head.) 

Syr.  But  if  you  knew  how  cleverly  it  came  into  my 
head 

Chrem.  Pshaw ! Do  you  boast  because  it  has  turned  out 
according  to  your  wishes  ? 

Syr.  On  my  word,  not  I,  indeed ; I am  telling  the  truth. 

Chrem.  Tell  me  how  it  is. 

Syr.  Clinia  has  told  Menedemus,  that  this  Bacchis  is  your 
Clitipho’s  mistress,  and  that  he  has  taken  her  thither  with  him 
in  order  that  you  might  not  come  to  know  of  it. 

Chrem.  Very  good. 

Syr.  Tell  me,  please,  what  you  think  of  it. 

Chrem.  Extremely  good^  I declare. 

Syr.  Why  yes,  pretty  fair.  But  listen,  what  a piece  of 
policy  still  remains.  He  is  then  to  say  that  he  has  seen  your 
daughter — that  her  beauty  charmed  him  as  soon  as  he  beheld 
her ; and  that  he  desires  her  for  a wife. 

Chrem.  What,  her  that  has  just  been  discovered? 

Syr.  The  same ; and,  in  fact,  he’ll  request  that  she  may  be 
asked  for. 

Chrem.  For  what  purpose,  Syrus  ? For  I don’t  altogether 
comprehend  it. 

Syr.  O dear,  you  are  so  dull. 

Chrem.  Perhaps  so. 


180 


HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; 


[Act  IV. 


Syk.  Money  will  be  given  him  for  the  wedding — with  which 
golden  trinkets  and  clothes do  you  understand  me  *? 

Chrem.  To  buy  them % 

Syr.  Just  so. 

CiiREM.  But  I neither  give  nor  betroth  my  daughter  to  him. 

Syr.  But  wliy? 

Chrem.  AVhy,  do  you  ask  me  % To  a fellow 

^’R.  Just  as  you  please.  I don’t  mean  that  in  reality  you 
should  give  her  to  him,  but  that  you  should  pretend  it. 

Chrem.  Pretending  is  not  in  my  way ; do  you  mix  up  these 
plots  of  yours,  so  as  not  to  mix  me  up  in  them.  Do  you  think 
that  I’ll  betroth  my  daughter  to  a person  to  whom  1 will  not 
marry  her? 

Syr.  I imagined  so. 

Chrem.  By  no  means. 

Syr.  It  might  have  been  cleverly  managed ; and  I under- 
took this  affair  for  the  very  reason,  that  a short  time  since  you 
so  urgently  requested  it. 

Chrem.  I believe  you. 

Syr.  But  for  my  part,  Chremes,  I take  it  well  and  good, 
either  ivay. 

Chrem.  But  still,  I especially  wish  you  to  do  your  best  for 
it  to  be  brought  about ; but  in  some  other  way. 

Syr.  It  shall  be  done  : some  other  method  must  be  thought 
of;  but  as  to  what  I was  telling  you  of, — about  the  money 
which  she  owes  to  Bacchis, — that  must  now  be  repaid  her. 
And  you  will  not,  of  course,  now  be  having  recourse  to  this 
method;  “What  have  I to  do  with  it?  Was  it  lent  to  me? 
Did  I give  any  orders?  Had  she  the  power  to  pawn  my 
daughter  without  my  consent  ?”  They  quote  that  saying, 
Chremes,  with  good  reason,  “ Kigorous  law^  is  often  rigorous 
injustice.” 

Chrem.  I will  not  do  so. 

Syr.  On  the  contrary,  though  others  were  at  liberty,  you 
are  not  at  liberty ; all  think  that  you  are  in  good  and  very 
easy  circumstances. 

^ Rigorous  law') — Ver.  796.  Cicero  mentions  the  same  proverb  in 
his  work  De  Officiis,  B.  i.,  ch.  10,  substituting  the  word  “injuria”  for 
‘‘  malitia.”  “ ‘ Extreme  law,  extreme  injustice,’  is  now  become  a stale 
proverb  in  discourse.”  The  same  sentiment  is  found  in  th<^  Fragment*^ 
of  Menander. 


Sc.  VL] 


THE  S>*^LF-TORMENTOR. 


181 


CiiREM.  Niiy  rather,  I’ll  at  once  cany  it  to  her  myself. 

Syr.  Why  no ; request  your  son  in  preference. 

Chrem.  For  what  reason? 

Syr.  Why,  because  the  suspicion  of  being  in  love  with  her 
has  been  transferred  to  him  with  Menedemus, 

Chrem.  What  then  ? 

Syr.  Because  it  will  seem  to  be  more  like  probability 
when  he  gives  it  her;  and  at  the  same  time  I shall  effect 
more  easily  what  I wish.  Here  he  comes  too ; go,  aaid  bring 
out  the  money. 

Chrem.  I’ll  bring  it.  (Goes  into  his  house.) 


Scene  VI. 

Enter  Clitipho. 

Clit.  {to  himself,)  There  is  nothing  so  easy  but  that  it 
becomes  difficult  when  you  do  it  with  reluctance.  As  this 
walk  of  mine,  for  instance,  though  not  fatiguing,  it  has  re- 
duced me  to  weariness.  And  now  I dread  nothing  more 
than  that  I should  be  packed  off  somewhere  hence  once 
again,  that  I may  not  have  access  to  Bacchis.  May  then  all 
the  Gods  and  Goddesses,  as  many  as  exist,  confound  you, 
Syrus,  with  these  stratagems  and  plots  of  yours.  You  are 
always  devising  something  of  this  kind,  by  means  of  which  to 
torture  me. 

Syr.  Will  you  not  away  with  you — to  where  you  deserve  ? 
How  nearly  had  your  forwardness  proved  my  ruin  1 

Clit.  Upon  my  faith,  I wish  it  had  been  so;  just  what  you 
deserve. 

Syr.  Deserve?  How  so?  Really,  I’m  glad  that  I’ve 
heard  this  from  you  before  you  had  the  money  which  I was 
just  going  to  give  you. 

Clit.  What  then  would  you  have  me  to  say  to  you  ? You’ve 
made  a fool  of  me;  brought  my  mistress  hither,  whom  I’m 
not  allowed  to  touch 

Syr.  Well^  I’m  not  angry  then.  But  do  you  know  where 
Bacchis  is  just  now  ? 

Clit.  At  our  house. 

Syr.  No. 

Clit.  Where  then  ? 


182 


HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; 


[Act  IV. 


Syr.  At  Clinia’s. 

Clip.  I’m  ruined ! 

Syr.  Be  of  good  heart;  you  shall  presently  carry  to  her 
the  money  that  you  promised  her. 

Clit.  You  do  prate  away. — Where  fromi 

Syr.  From  your  own  father. 

Clit.  Perhaps  you  are  joking  with  me. 

Syr.  The  thing  itself  will  prove  it. 

Clit.  Indeed,  then,  I am  a lucky  man.  Syrus,  I do  love 
you  from  my  heart. 

Syr.  But  your  father’s  coming  out.  Take  care  not  to 
express  surprise  at  any  thing,  for  what  reason  it  is  done; 
give  way  at  the  proper  moment ; do  what  he  orders,  and  say 
but  little. 


SCEN^  YII. 

Enter  Chremes house,  icith  a hag  of  money. 

Chrem.  Where’s  Clitipho  now  ? 

Syr.  {aside  to  Clitipho.)  Say — here  I am. 

Clit.  Here  am  I.  ^ 

Chrem.  (to  Syrus.)  Have  you  told  him  how  it  is? 

Syr.  I’ve  told  him  pretty  well  every  thing. 

Chrem.  Take  this  money,  and  carry  it.  {Holding  out  the 
hag.) 

Syr.  {aside  to  Clitipho.)  Go — why  do  you  stand  still,  you 
stone  ; why  don’t  you  take  it  ? 

Clit.  Very  well,  give  it  me.  {Receives  the  hag.) 

Syr.  {to  Clitipho.)  Follow  me  this  way  directly.  {To 
Chremes.)  You  in  the  mean  while  will  wait  here  for  us  till 
we  return ; for  there’s  no  occasion  for  us  to  stay  there  long. 
(Clitipho  and  Syrus  go  into  the  house  of  Menedemus.) 

Chrem.  {to  himself)  My  daughter,  in  fact,  has  now  had 
ten  minae  from  me,  which  I consider  as  paid  for  her  board ; 
another  ten  will  follow  these  for  clothes;  and  then  she  will 
require  two  talents  for  her  portion.  How  many  things, 
just  and  unjust,  are  sanctioned  by  custom  P Now  I’m 

% 

^ Are  sanctioned  hy  custom) — Ver.  839.  He  inveighs,  perhaps  justly, 
against  the  tyranny  of  custom;  but  in  selecting  this  occasion  for 
doing  so,  he  does  not  manifest  any  great  affection  for  his  newly-found 
daughter. 


Sc.  VIII.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


183 


obliged,  neglecting  my  business,  to  look  out  for  some  one  on 
whom  to  bestow  my  property,  that  has  been  acquired  by  my 
labor. 

Scene  VIII. 

Enter  Menedemus  f rom  Ms  house. 

Men.  (to  Clinia  within,)  My  son,  I now  think  myself  the 
happiest  of  all  men,  since  I find  that  you  have  returned  to  a 
rational  mode  of  life. 

Chrem.  (aside,)  How  much  he  is  mistaken ! 

Men.  Chremes,  you  are  the  very  person  I wanted ; pre- 
serve, so  far  as  in  you  lies,  my  son,  myself,  and  my  family. 

Chrem.  Tell  me  what  you  would  have  me  do. 

Men.  You  have  this  day  found  a daughter. 

Chrem.  What  then  ? 

Men.  Clinia  wishes  her  to  be  given  him  for  a wife. 

Chrem.  Prithee,  what  kind  of  a person  are  you  % 

Men.  Why  ? 

Chrem.  Have  you  already  forgotten  what  passed  between 
us,  concerning  a scheme,  that  by  that  method  some  money 
might  be  got  out  of  you  ? 

Men.  I remember. 

Chrem.  That  self-same  thing  they  are  now  about. 

Men.  What  do  you  tell  me^  Chremes?  Why  surely,  this 
Courtesan,  who  is  at  my  house,  is  Clitipho’s  mistress. 

Chrem.  So  they  say,  and  you  believe  it  all ; and  they  say 
that  he  is  desirous  of  a wife,  in  order  that,  when  I have 
betrothed  her,  you  may  give  him  money,,  with  which  to 
provide  gold  trinkets  and  clothing,  and  other  things  that  are 
requisite. 

Men.  That  is  it,  no  doubt ; that  money  will  be  given  to  his 
mistress. 

Chrem.  Of  course  it  is  to  be  given. 

Men.  Alas ! in  vain  then,  unhappy  man,  have  I been  over- 
joyed ; still  however,  I had  rather  any  thing  than  be  deprived 
of  him.  What  answer  now  shall  I report  from  you,  Chremes, 
so  that  he  may  not  perceive  that  I have  found  it  out,  and  take 
it  to  heart  7 

Chrem.  To  heart,  indeed!  you  are  too  indulgent  to  him, 
Menedemus. 


184  IIEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; [Act  V. 

Men.  Let  me  go  on ; I have  now  begun : assist  me  in  this 
throughout,  Chremes. 

Chrem.  Say  then,  that  you  have  seen  me,  and  have  treated 
about  the  marriage. 

Men.  ril  say  so — what  then  ? 

Chrem.  That  I will  do  every  thing ; that  as  a son-in-law 
he  meets  my  approbation ; in  fine,  too,  if  you  like,  tell  him 
also  that  she  has  been  promised  him. 

Men.  Well,  that’s  what  I wanted 

Chrem.  That  he  may  the  sooner  ask  of  you,  and  you  may 
as  soon  as  possible  give  him  what  you  wish. 

Men.  It  is  my  wish. 

Chrem.  Assuredly,  before  very  long,  according  as  I view 
til  is  matter,  you’ll  have  enough  of  him.  But,  however  that 
may  be,  if  you  are  wise,  you’ll  give  to  him  cautiously,  and  a 
little  at  a time. 

Men.  I’ll  do  so. 

Chrem.  Go  in-doors  and  see  how  much  he  requires.  I 
sl^all  be  at  home,  if  you  should  want  me  for  any  thing. 

Men.  I certainly  do  want  you  ; for  I shall  let  you  know 
whatever  I do.  {They  go  into  their  respective  houses.) 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Menedemus  from  his  house. 

Men.  {to  himself.)  I am  quite  aware  that  I am  not  so  over- 
wise, or  so  very  quick-sighted ; but  this  assistant,  prompter, 
and  director^  of  mine,  Chremes,  outdoes  me  in  that.  Any 
one  of  those  epithets  which  are  applied  to  a fool  is  suited  to 
myself,  such  as  dolt,  post,  ass,^  lump  of  lead  ; to  him  not  one 
can  apply ; his  stupidity  surpasses  them  all. 

^ Assistant^  prompter^  and  director) — Ver.  875.  The  three  terms  here 
used  are  borrowed  from  the  stage.  “ Adjutor”  was  the  person  who  as- 
sisted the  performers  either  by  voice  or  gesture;  “monitor”  was  the 
prompter;  and  “ prsemonstrator”  was  the  person  who  in  the  rehearsal 
trained  the  actor  in  his  part. 

^ Dolt^  post,  ass) — Yer.  877.  There  is  a similar  passage  in  the  Bac- 


Sc.  L] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


185 


Enter  Ciikemes,  spealcing  to  Sostkata  within, 

Chrem.  Hold  now,  do,  wife,  leave  off  dinning  the  Gods 
with  thanksgivings  that  your  daughter  has  been  discovered  ; 
unless  you  judge  of  them  by  your  own  disposition,  and  think 
that  they  understand  nothing,  unless  the  same  thing  has  been 
told  them  a hundred  times.  But,  in  the  mean  time,  why  does 
my  son  linger  there  so  long  with  Syrus  ? 

Men.  What  persons  do  you  say  are  lingering? 

Chre3I.  Ha ! Menedemus,  you  have  come  opportunely. 
Tell  me,  have  you  told  Clinia  what  I said  ? 

Men.  Every  thing. 

Chrem.  What  did  he  say? 

Men.  He  began  to  rejoice,  just  like  people  do  who  wish  to 
be  married. 

Chrem.  {laughing.)  Ha  ! ha ! ha  ! 

Men.  Why  are  you  laughing? 

Chrem.  The  sly  tricks  of  my  servant,  Syrus,  j/wsif  came  into 
my  mind. 

Men.  Did  they  ? 

Chrem.  The  rogue  can  even  mould  the  countenances  of 
people.  1 

Men.  That  my  son  is  pretending  that  he  is  overjoyed,  is  it 
that  you  mean  ? 

Chrem.  Just  so.  {Laughing.) 

Men.  The  very  same  thing  came  into  my  mind. 

Chrem.  A crafty  knave ! 

Men.  Still  more  would  you  think  such  to  be  the  fact,  if 
you  knew  more. 

Chrem.  Do  you  say  so  ? 

Men.  Do  you  give  attention  then  ? 

Chrem.  Just  stop — first  I want  to  know  this,  what  money 
you  have  squandered;  for  when  you  told  your  son  that  she 
was  promised,  of  course  Dromo  would  at  once  throw  in  a word 

chides  of  Plautus,  1.  1087.  “ Whoever  there  are  in  any  place  whatso- 
ever, whoever  have  been,  and  whoever  shall  be  in  time  to  come,  fools, 
blockheads,  idiots,  dolts,  sots,  oafs,  lubbers,  I singly  by  far  exceed  them 
all  in  folly  and  absurd  ways.” 

^ Mould  the  countenances  of  people') — Yer.  887.  He  means  that  Syrus 
not  only  lays  his  plots  well,  but  teaches  the  performers  to  put  on  coun- 
tenances suitable  to  the  several  parts  they  are  to  act. 


HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; 


18G 


[Act  V. 


that  golden  jewels,  clothes,  and  attendants  would  be  needed 
for  the  bride,  in  order  that  you  might  give  the  money. 

Men.  No. 

Chrem.  How,  no  % 

Men.  No,  I tell  you. 

Chrem.  Nor  yet  your  son  himself 

Men.  Not  in  the  slightest,  Chremes.  He  was  only  the 
more  pressing  on  this  one  point,  that  the  match  might  be  con- 
cluded to-day. 

Chrem.  You  say  what’s  surprising.  What  did  my  servant 
Syrus  do  ? Didn’t  even  he  say  any  thing  ? 

Men.  Nothing  at  all. 

Chrem.  For  what  reason,  I don’t  know. 

Men.  For  my  part,  I wonder  at  that,  when  you  know  other 
things  so  well.  But  this  same  Syrus  has  moulded  your  son,^ 
too,  to  such  perfection,  that  there  could  not  be  even  the  slight- 
est suspicion  that  she  is  Clinia^s  mistress  1 

Chrem.  What  do  you  say  ? 

Men.  Not  to  mention,  then,  their  kissing  and  embracing ; 
that  I count  nothing. 

Chrem.  What  more  could  be  done  to  carry  on  the  cheat  ? 

Men.  Pshaw! 

Chrem.  What  do  you  mean 

Men.  Only  listen.  In  the  inner  part  of  my  house  there  is 
a certain  room  at  the  back ; into  this  a bed  was  brought,  and 
was  made  up  with  bed-clothes. 

Chrem.  What  took  place  after  this  ? 

Men.  No  sooner  said  than  done,  thither  went  Clitipho. 

Chrem.  Alone'? 

Men.  Alone. 

Chrem.  I’m  alarmed. 

Men.  Bacchis  followed  directly. 

Chrem.  Alone? 

Men.  Alone. 

Chrem.  I’m  undone  I 

Men.  When  they  had  gone  into  the  room,  they  shut  the 
door. 

Chrem.  Well — did  Clinia  see  all  this  going  on? 

^ Has  moulded  your  son) — Ver.  898.  Mirefinxit.”  He  sarcastic- 
ally uses  the  same  word,  ‘‘  fingo,”  which  Chremes  himself  employed 
in  1.  887. 


Sc.  r.j 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


187 


Men.  How  shouldn’t  he?  He  was  with  me. 

Chrem.  Baccliis  is  my  son’s  mistress,  Menedemus — I’m 
undone. 

Men.  "Why  so  ? 

Chrem.  I have  hardly  substance  to  suffice  for  ten  days.^ 

Men.  What ! are  you  alarmed  at  it,  because  he  is  paying- 
attention  to  his  friend  ? 

Chrem.  His  she-friend”  rather.^ 

Men.  If  he  really  is  paying  it. 

Chrem.  Is  it  a matter  of  doubt  to  you  ? Do  you  suppose 
that  there  is  any  person  of  so  accommodating  and  tame  a spirit 
as  to  suffer  his  own  mistress,  himself  looking  on,  to 

Men.  {chuckling  and  speaking  ironically.')  Why  not  ? That 
I may  be  imposed  upon  the  more  easily. 

Chrem.  Do  you  laugh  at  me?  You  have  good  reason. 
How  angry  I now  am  with  myself!  How  many  things  gave 
proofs  whereby,  had  I not  been  a stone,  I might  have  been 
fully  sensible  of  this?  What  was  it  I saw?  Alas!  wretch 
that  I am ! But  assuredly  they  shall  not  escape  my  vengeance 
if  I live  ; for  this  instant 

Men.  Can  you  not  contain  yourself?  Have  you  no  respect 
for  yourself?  Am  I not  a sufficient  example  to  you  ? 

Chrem.  For  very  anger,  Menedemus,  I am  not  myself. 

Men.  For  you  to  talk  in  that  manner!  Is  it  not  a shame 
for  you  to  be  giving  advice  to  others,  to  show  wisdom  abroad 
and  yet  be  able  to  do  nothing  for  yourself? 

Chrem.  What  shall  I do? 

Men.  That  which  you  said  I failed  to  do : make  him  sens- 
ible that  you  are  his  father;  make  him  venture  to  intrust 
every  thing  to  you,  to  seek  and  to  ask  of  you ; so  that  he  may 
look  for  no  other  resources  and  forsake  you.^ 

^ Substance  to  suffice  for  ten  days) — Ver.  909.  “Familia”  here  means 
“ property,”  as  producing  sustenance.  Colman,  however,  has  translated 
the  passage:  “M^ne  is  scarce  a ten-days’  family.” 

^ His  shefriend  rather) — Ver.  911.  Menedemus  speaks  of  “amico,” 
a male  friend,  which  Chremes  plays  upon  by  saying  “amicae,”  which 
literally  meant  a she-friend,  and  was  the  usual  name  by  which  decent 
people  called  a mistress. 

^ And  forsake  you) — Ver.  924.  Madame  Dacier  observes  here,  that 
one  of  the  great  beauties  of  this  Scene  consists  in  Chremes  retorting 
on  Menedemus  the  very  advice  given  by  himself  at  the  beginning  of 
the  Play. 


188 


HEAUTONTIMOIiUMENOS ; 


[Act  V. 


Chrem.  Nay,  I had  much  rather  he  would  go  any  where 
in  the  world,  than  by  his  debaucheries  here  reduce  his  father 
to  beggary!  For  if  I go  on  supplying  his  extravagance,  Men- 
edemus,  in  that  case  my  circumstances  will  undoubtedly  be 
soon  reduced  to  the  level  of  your  rake. 

Men.  What  evils  you  will  bring  upon  yourself  in  this 
affair,  if  you  don’t  act  with  caution  ! You’ll  show  yourself 
severe,  and  still  pardon  him  at  last;  that  too  with  an  ill 
grace. 

Chrem.  Ah!  you  don’t  know  how  vexed  I am. 

Men.  Just  as  you  please.  What  about  that  which  I desire 
— that  she  may  l3e  married  to  my  son?  Unless  there  is  any 
other  step  that  you  would  prefer. 

Chrem.  On  the  contrary,  both  the  son-in-law  and  the  con- 
nection are  to  my  taste. 

Men.  What  portion  shall  I say  that  you  have  named  for 
your  daughter?  Why  are  you  silent? 

Chrem.  Portion  ? 

Men.  I say  so. 

Chrem.  Alas! 

Men.  Chrem.es,  don’t  be  at  all  afraid  to  speaJc^  if  it  is  but  a 
small  one.  The  portion  is  no  consideration  at  all  with  us. 

CiiREM.  I did  think  that  two  talents  were  sufficient,  accord- 
ing to  my  means.  But  if  you  wish  me  to  be  saved,  and  my 
estate  and  my  son,  you  must  say  to  this  effect,  that  I have 
settled  all  my  property  on  her  as  her  portion. 

Men.  What  scheme  are  you  upon  ? 

Chrem.  Pretend  that  you  wonder  at  this,  and  at  the  same 
time  ask  him  the  reason  why  I do  so. 

Men.  Why,  really,  I can’t  conceive  the  reason  for  your 
doing  so. 

Chrem.  Why  do  I do  so?  To  check  his  feelings,  which 
are  now  hurried  away  by  luxury  and  wantonness,  and  to 
bring  him  down  so  as  not  to  know  which  way  to  turn  him- 
self. 

AIen.  What  is  your  design  ? 

Chrem.  Let  me  alone,  and  give  me  leave  to  have  my  own 
way  in  this  matter. 

Men.  I do  give  you  leave ; is  this  your  desire  ? 

Chrem.  It  is  so. 

Men.  Then  be  it  so. 


Sc.  II.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


189 


Chrem.  And  now  let  your  son  prepare  to  fetch  the  bride. 
The  other  one  shall  be  schooled  in  such  language  as  befits 

children.  But  Syr  us 

Men.  What  of  him  ? 

Chrem.  AVhat If  I live,  I will  have  him  so  handsomely 
dressed,  so  well  combed  out,  that  he  shall  always  remember 
me  as  long  as  he  lives ; to  imagine  that  I’m  to  be  a laugh- 
ing-stock and  a plaything  for  him  ! So  may  the  Gods  bless 
me  ! he  would  not  have  dared  to  do  to  a widow-woman  the 
things  which  he  has  done  to  me.^  (They  go  into  their  respective 
houses.) 


Scene  II. 

Enter  Menedemus,  ivith  Clitipho  and  Syrus. 

Cut.  Prithee,  is  it  really  the  fact,  Menedemus,  that  my  fa- 
ther can,  in  so  short  a space  of  tiine^  have  cast  off  all  the  natu- 
ral affection  of  a parent  for  me?  For  what  crime?  What 
so  great  enormity  have  I,  to  my  misfortune,  committed? 
Young  men  generally  do  the  same. 

Men.  I am  aware  that  this  must  be  much  more  harsh  and 
severe  to  you,  on  whom  it  falls ; but  yet  I take  it  no  less 
amiss  than  you.  How  it  is  so  I know  not,  nor  can  I account 
for  it,  except  that  from  my  heart  I wish  you  well. 

Cut.  Did  not  you  say  that  my  father  was  waiting  here? 

Enter  Ciiremes  from  his  house. 

Men.  See,  here  he  is.  (Menedemus  goes  into  his  house.) 


^ Which  he  has  done  to  me) — Ver.  954.  Colman  has  the  following 
Note  : “The  departure  of  Menedemus  here  is  very  abrupt,  seeming  to 
be  in  the  midst  of  a conversation ; and  his  re-entrance  with  Clitipho, 
already  supposed  to  be  apprised  of  what  has  passed  between  the  two 
old  gentlemen,  is  equally  precipitate.  Menage  imagines  that  some 
verses  are  lost  here.  Madame  Dacier  strains  hard  to  defend  the  Poet,  ^ 
and  fills  up  the  void  of  time  by  her  old  expedient  of  making  the* 
Audience  wait  to  see  Chremes  W’alk  impatiently  to  and  fro,  till  a suffi- 
cient time  is  elapsed  for  Menedemus  to  have  given  Clitipho  a summary 
account  of  the  cause  of  his  father’s  anger.  The  truth  is,  that  a too 
strict  observance  of  the  unity  of  place  will  necessarily  produce  such  ab- 
surdities; and  there  are  several  other  instances  of  the  like  nature  in 
Terence.” 


190 


IIEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; 


[Act  V. 


CfiKEM.  Why  are  you  blaming  me,  Clitipho  ? Whatever 
I have  done  in  this  matter,  I had  a view  to  you  and  your  im- 
prudence. When  I saw  that  you  were  of  a careless  disposi- 
tion, and  held  the  pleasures  of  the  moment  of  the  first  import- 
ance, and  did  not  look  forward  to  the  future,  I took  measures 
that  you  might  neither  want  nor  be  able  to  waste  this  which  I 
have.  When,  through. your  own  conduct^  it  was  not  allowed 
me  to  give  it  you,  to  whom  I ought  before  all,  I had  recourse 
to  those  who  were  your  nearest  relations;  to  them  I have 
made  over  and  intrusted  every  thing J There  you’ll  always 
find  a refuge  for  your  folly ; food,  clothing,  and  a roof  under 
which  to  betake  yourself. 

Clit.  Ah  me ! 

CiiREivi.  It  is  better  than  that,  you  being  my  heir,  Bacchis 
should  possess  this  estate  of  mine. 

Syr.  (apart.)  I’m  ruined  irrevocably! — Of  what  mischief 
have  I,  wretch  that  I am,  unthinkingly  been  the  cause  ? 

Clit.  Would  I were  dead! 

Chrem.  Prithee,  first  learn  what  it  is  to  live.  When  you 
know  that,  if  life  displeases  you,  then  try  the  other. 

Syr.  Master,  may  I be  allowed ? 

Chrem.  Say  on. 

Syr.  But  may  I safely? 

Chrem.  Say  on. 

Syr.  What  injustice  or  what  madness  is  this,  that  that  in 
which  I have  offended,  should  be  to  his  detriment  ? 

Chrem.  It’s  all  over.^  Don’t  you  mix  yourself  up  in  it; 
no  one  accuses  you,  Syrus,  nor  need  you  look  out  for  an  al- 
tar,^ or  for  an  intercessor  for  yourself. 

Syr.  What  is  your  design  ? 

Chrem.  I am  not  at  all  angry  either  with  you  (to 
Syrus),  or  with  you  (to  Clitipho)  ; nor  is  it  fair  that  you 

^ Intrusted  every  thing) — Ver.  9GG.  This  is  an  early  instance  of  a 
trusteeship  and  a guardianship. 

* IVs  all  over) — Ver.  974.  ‘‘Ilicet,”  literally,  “you  may  go  away.” 
This  was  the  formal  word  with  which  funeral  ceremonies  and  trials  at 
law  were  concluded. 

^ Look  out  for  an  altar) — Ver.  975.  He  alludes  to  the  practice  of  slaves 
taking  refuge  at  altars  when  they  had  committed  any  fault,  and  then 
suing  for  pardon  through  a “precator”  or  “mediator.”  See  the  Mos- 
tellaria  of  Plautus,  1.  1074,  where  Tranio  takes  refuge  at  the  altar  from 
the  vengeance  of  his  master,  Theuropides. 


So,  II.] 


THE  SELE-TORMENTOK. 


191 


should  he  so  with  me  for  what  I am  doing.  {He  goes  into  his 
house.) 

Syr.  He’s  gone.  I wish  I had  asked  him 

Clit.  What,  Syrus? 

Syr.  Where  I am  to  get  my  subsistence ; '‘he  has  so  utterly 
cast  us  adrift.  You  are  to  have  it,  for  the  present,  at  your 
sister’s,  I find. 

Clit.  Has  it  then  come  to  this  pass,  Syrus — that  I am  to 
be  in  danger  even  of  starving  % 

Syr.  So  we  only  live,  there’s  hope 

Clit.  What  hope  ? 

Syr.  That  we  shall  be  hungry  enough. 

Clit.  Do  you  jest  in  a matter  so  serious,  and  not  give  me 
any  assistance  with  your  advice  ? 

Syr.  On  the  contrary.  I’m  both  now  thinking  of  that,  and 
have  been  about  it  all  the  time  your  father  was  speaking  just 
now ; and  so  far  as  I can  perceive 

Clit.  What? 

Syr.  It  will  not  be  wanting  long.  {He  meditates.) 

Clit.  What  is  it,  then  ? 

Syr.  It  is  this— I think  that  you  are  not  their  son. 

Clit.  How’s  that,  Syrus  ? Are  you  quite  in  your  senses  ? 

Syr.  I’ll  tell  you  what’s  come  into  my  mind ; be  you  the 
judge.  While  they  had  you  alone,  while  they  had  no  other 
source  of  joy  more  nearly  to  affect  them,  they  indulged 
you,  they  lavished  upon  you.  Now  a daughter  has  been 
found,  a pretense  has  been  found  in  fact  on  which  to  turn  you 
adrift. 

Clit.  It’s  very  probable. 

Syr.  Do  you  suppose  that  he  is  so  angry  on  account  of  this 
fault  ? 

Clit.  I do  not  think  so. 

Syr.  Now  consider  another  thing.  All  mothers  are  wont 
to  be  advocates  for  their  sons  when  in  fault,  and  to  aid  them 
against  a father's  severity;  ’tis  not  so  here. 

Clit.  You  say  true  ; what  then  shall  I now  do,  Sy- 
rus? 

Syr.  Question  them  on  this  suspicion  ; mention  the  matter 
without  reserve;  either,  if  it  is  not  true,  you’ll  soon  bring 
them  both  to  compassion,  or  else  you’ll  soon  find  out  whose  so7i 
you  are. 


192  HEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; [Act  V. 

Clit.  You  give  good  advice;  I’ll  do  so,  {He  goes  into  the 
house  of  Chremes.) 

Syr.  {to  himself.)  Most  fortunately  did  this  come  into  my 
mind.  For  the  less  hope  the  young  man  entertains,  the 
greater  the  difficulty  with  which  he’ll  bring  his  father  to  his 
own  terms.  I’m  not  sure  even,  that  he  may  not  take  a wife, 
and  then  no  thanks  for  Syrus.  But  what  is  this"?  The  old 
man’s  coming  out  of  doors  ; I’ll  be  off.  What  has  so  far  hap- 
pened, I am  surprised  at,  that  he  didn’t  order  me  to  be  carried 
off  from  here : now  I’ll  away  to  Menedemus  here,  I’ll  secure 
him  as  my  intercessor ; I can  put  no  trust  in  our  old  man. 
{Goes  into  the  house  of  Menedemus.) 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Chremes  and  Sostrata  from  the  house. 

Sos.  Eeally,  sir,  if  you  don’t  take  care,  you’ll  be  causing 
some  mischief  to  your  son  ; and  indeed  I do  wonder  at  it,  my 
husband,  how  any  thing  so  foolish  could  ever  come  into  your 
head. 

Chrem.  Oh,  you  persist  in  being  the  woman  ? Did  I ever 
wish  for  any  one  thing  in  all  my  life,  Sostrata,  but  that  you 
were  my  contradicter  on  that  occasion?  And  yet  if  I were 
now  to  ask  you  what  it  is  that  I have  done  amiss,  or  why  you 
act  thus,  you  would  not  know  in  what  point  you  are  now  so 
obstinately  opposing  me  in  your  folly. 

Sos.  I,  not  know? 

Chrem.  Yes,  rather,  I should  have  said  you  do  know ; inas- 
much as  either  expression  amounts  to  the  same  thing.  ^ 

Sos.  Alas!  you  are  unreasonable  to  expect  me  to  be  silent 
in  a matter  of  such  importance. 

Chrem.  I don’t  expect  it;  talk  on  then,  I shall  still  do  it 
not  a bit  the  less. 

Sos.  Will  you  do  it  ? 

Chrem.  Certainly. 

Sos.  Don’t  you  see  how  much  evil  you  will  be  causing  by 
that  course  ? — He  suspects  himself  to  he  a foundling. 

* Amounts  to  the  same  thing) — Vcr.  1010.  ‘‘ Quam  quidem  redit  ad 
integrum  eadem  oratio ;”  meaning,  “ it  amounts  to  one  and  the  same 
thing,”  or,  “ it  is  all  the  same  thing,”  whether  you  do  or  whether  you 
don’t  know.  * 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


193 


CiiREM.  Do  you  say  so  f 

Sos.  Assuredly  it  will  be  so. 

CnKEM.  Admit  it. 

Sos.  Hold  now — -prithee,  let  that  be  for  our  enemies.  Am 
I to  admit  that  he  is  not  my  son  who  really  is  ? 

Chrem.  What ! are  you  afraid  that  you  can  not  prove  that 
he  is  yours,  whenever  you  please? 

Sos.  Because  my  daughter  has  been  found  V 

Chrem.  No  ; but  for  a reason  why  it  should  be  much  soon- 
er believed — because  he  is  just  like  you  in  disposition,  you 
will  easily  prove  that  he  is  your  child ; for  he  is  exactly  like 
you  ; why,  he  has  not  a single  vice  left  him  but  you  have  just 
the  same.  Then,  besides,  no  woman  could  have  been  the 
mother  of  such  a son  but  yourself.  But  he’s  coming  out  of 
doors,  and  how  demure ! When  you  understand  the  matter, 
you  may  form  your  own  conclusions. 

Scene  IV. 

Enter  Clyuvho  from  the  house  of  Chremes. 

Clit.  If  there  ever  was  any  time,  mother,  when  I caused 
you  pleasure,  being  called  your  son  by  your  own  desire,  .1  be- 
seech you  to  remember  it,  and  now  to  take  compassion  on  me 
in  my  distress.  A thing  I beg  and  request — do  discover  to 
me  my  parents. 

1 Because  my  daughter  has  been  found) — Vcr.  1018.  This  sentence 
has  given  much  trouble  to  the  Commentators.  Colman  has  the  follow- 
ing just  remarks  upon  it : Madame  Dacier,  as  well  as  all  the  rest  of 
the  Commentators,  has  stuck  at  these  words.  Most  of  them  imagine 
she  means  to  say,  that  the  discovery  of  Antiphila  is  a plain  proof  that 
she  is  not  barren.  Madame  Dacier  supposes  that  she  intimates  such  a 
proof  to  be  easy,  because  Clitipho  and  Antiphila  were  extremely  alike ; 
which  sense  she  thinks  immediately  confirmed  by  the  answer  of  Chremes. 
I can  not  agree  with  any  of  them,  and  think  that  the  whole  difficulty 
of  the  passage  here,  as  in  many  other  places,  is  entirely  of  their  own 
making.  Sostrata  could  not  refer  to  the  reply  of  Chremes,  because  she 
could  not  possibly  tell  what  it  would  be  ; but  her  own  speech  is  intend- 
ed as  an  answer  to  his  preceding  one,  which  she  takes  as  a sneer  05i 
her  late  wonderful  discovery  of  a daughter ; imagining  that  he  means 
to  insinuate  that  she  could  at  any  time  with  equal  ease  make  out  the 
proofs  of  the  birth  of  her  son.  The  elliptical  mode  of  expression  so 
usual  with  Terence,  together  with  the  lefinements  of  Commentators, 
seem  to  have  created  all  the  obscurity.” 


194  IIEAUTONTIMORUMENOS ; [Act  V. 

Sos.  I conjure  you,  my  son,  not  to  entertain  that  notion  in 
your  mind,  that  you  are  another  person’s  child. 

Clit.  I am. 

vSos.  Wretch  that  I am  ! {Turning  to  Chremes.)  Was  it 
this  that  you  wanted,  pray?  (To  Ceitipiio.)  So  may  you  be 
the  survivor  of  me  and  of  him,  you  are  my  son  and  his ; and 
lienceforth,  if  you  love  me,  take  care  that  I never  hear  that 
speech  from  you  again, 

Chrem.  But  I say,  if  you  fear  me,  take  care  how  I find 
these  propensities  existing  in  you. 

Clit.  What  propensities  ? 

Chrem.  If  you  wish  to  know,  I’ll  tell  you ; being  a trifler, 
an  idler,  a cheat,  a glutton,  a debauchee,  a spendthrift — Be- 
lieve me,  and  believe  that  you  are  our  son. 

Clit.  This  is  not  the  language  of  a parent. 

Chrem.  If  you  had  been  born  from  my  head,  Clitipho,  just 
as  they  say  Minerva  was  from  Jove’s,  none  the  more  on  that 
account  would  I suffer  myself  to  be  disgraced  by  your  profli- 
gacy.i 

Sos.  May  the  Gods  forbid  it. 

Chrem.  I don’t  know  as  to  the  Gods  so  far  as  I shall  be 
enabled,  I ivill  Q^vQ^y\\\J prevent  it.  You  are  seeking  that  which 
you  possess — ^parents;  that  which  you  are  in  want  of  you 
don’t  seek — in  what  way  to  pay  obedience  to  a father,  and  to 
preserve  what  he  acquired  by  his  industry.  That  you  by  trick- 
ery should  bring  before  my  eyes 1 am  ashamed  to  mention 

the  unseemly  word  in  her  presence  {pointing  to  Sostrata),  but 
you  were  not  in  any  degree  ashamed  to  act  thus. 

Clit.  {aside.)  Alas!  how  thoroughly  displeased  I now  am 
with  myself!  How  much  ashamed!  nor  do  I know  how  to 
make  a beginning  to  pacify  him. 

^ By  your  profligacy) — Yer.  1036.  It  is  probably  this  ebullition  of 
Comic  anger  which  is  referred  to  by  Horace,  in  his  Art  of  Poetry : 

‘Tnterdum  tamen  et  voceni  Comoedia  tollit, 

Iratusque  Chremes  tumido  delitigat  ore 

Yet  sometimes  Comedy  as  well  raises  her  voice,  and  enraged  Chremes 
censures  in  swelling  phrase.” 

^ I dorCt  know  as  to  the  Gods') — Yer.  1037.  ‘‘  Deos  nescio.”  The 
Critic  Lambinus,  in  his  letter  to  Charles  the  Ninth  of  France,  accuses 
Terence  of  impiety  in  this  passage.  Madame  Dacier  has,  however,  well 
observed,  that  the  meaning  is  not  care  not  for  the  Gods,”  but  “1 
know  not  what  the  Gods  v/ill  do.” 


Sc.  V.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


195 


Scene  Y. 

Enter  Menedemus  from  Ids  house. 

Men.  {to  himself)  Why  really,  Chremes  is  treating  his 
son  too  harshly  and  too  unkindly.  Fm  come  out,  therefore, 
to  make  peace  between  them.  Most  opportunely  1 see  them 
. both. 

CiiREM.  Well,  Menedemus,  why  don’t  you  order  my  daugh- 
ter to  be  sent  for,  and  close  with  the  ofFeH  of  the  portion  that 
I mentioned  ? 

Sos.  My  husband,  I entreat  you  not  to  do  it. 

Clit.  Father,  I entreat  you  to  forgive  me. 

Men.  Forgive  him,  Chremes;  do  let  them  prevail  upon 
you. 

CiiREM.  Am  I knowingly  to  make  my  property  a present 
to  Bacchis  % I’ll  not  do  it. 

Men.  Why,  we  would  not  suffer  it. 

Clit.  If  you  desire  me  to  live,  father,  do  forgive  me. 

Sos.  Do,  my  dear  Chremes. 

Men.  Come,  Chremes,  pray,  don’t  be  so  obdurate. 

Chrem.  What  am  I to  do  here?  I see  I am  not  allowed 
to  carry  this  through,  as  I had  intended. 

Men.  You  are  acting  as  becomes  you. 

Chrem.  On  this  condition,  then.  I’ll  do  it;  if  he  does  that 
which  I think  it  right  he  shoidd  do, 

Clit.  Father,  I’ll  do  any  thing;  command  me. 

Chrem.  You  must  take  a Avife. 

Clit.  Father 

ChrExM.  I’ll  hear  nothing. 

Men.  I’ll  take  it  upon  myself ; he  shall  do  so. 

Chrem.  I don’t  hear  any  thing  from  him  as  yet, 

Clit.  {aside.)  I’m  undone ! 

Sos.  Do  you  hesitate,  Clitipho  ? 

ChrexAi.  Nay,  just  as  he  likes. 

Men.  He’ll  do  it  all. 

Sos.  This  course,  Avhile  you  are  making  a beginning,  is 

^ ' And  close  with  the  offer)— V^v.  1048.  “ Firmas.”  This  ratifica- 

tion or  affirmation  would  be  made  bv  Menedemus  using  the  formal 
word  “Accipio,” '‘I  accept.” 


196 


HEAUTONTIMORUiVIENOS.  [Act  V.,  Sc.  V. 


disagreeable,  and  while  you  are  unacquainted  with  it.  When 
you  have  become  acquainted  with  it,  it  will  become  easy. 

Clit.  ril  do  it,  father. 

Sos.  My  son,  upon  my  honor  I’ll  give  you  that  charming 
girl,  whom  you  may  soon  become  attached  to,  the  daughter  of 
our  neighbor  Phanocrata. 

Clit.  What ! that  red-haired  girl,  with  cat’s  eyes,  freckled 
face,^  and  hooked  nose  ? I can  not,  father. 

Chrem.  Heyday ! how  nice  he  is ! You  would  fancy  he 
had  set  his  mind  upon  it. 

Sos.  I’ll  name  another. 

Clit.  Why  no — since  I must  marry,  I myself  have  one  that 
I should  pretty  nearly  make  choice  of. 

Sos.  Now,  son,  I commend  you. 

Clit.  The  daughter  of  Archonides  here. 

Sos.  I’m  quite  agreeable. 

Clit.  Father,  this  now  remains. 

Chrem.  What  is  it  f 

Clit.  I want  you  to  pardon  Syrus  for  what  he  has  done  for 
my  sake. 

Chrem.  Be  it  so.  {To  the  Audience.)  Fare  you  well,  and 
grant  us  your  applause. 

^ Freckled  face) — Yer.  1060.  Many  take  “sparse  ore”  here  to  mean 
‘‘  wide-mouthed.”  Lemonnier  thinks  that  must  be  the  meaning,  as  he 
has  analyzed  the  other  features  of  her  countenance.  There  is,  however, 
no  reason  why  he  should  not  speak  of  her  complexion ; and  it  seems, 
not  improbably,  to  have  the  same  meaning  as  the  phrase  ‘ ‘ os  lentigino- 
sum,”  “ a freckled  face.” 


ADELPHI;  THE  BROTHERS 


DRAMATIS  PERSONAC. 


Demea/ 


’ !-  Brothers,  aj^cd  Athenians. 

Micio,2  J ’ ° 

Hegio,^  an  aged  Athenian,  kinsman  of  Sostrata. 
iEscHiNus,^  son  of  Demea,  adopted  by  Micio. 
Ctesipho,^  another  son  of  Demea. 

Sannio,  ® a Procurer. 

Geta,^  servant  of  Sostrata. 


Dromo,^®  ) 

Pamphila/^  a young  woman  beloved  by  JEschinus. 
Sostrata, a widow,  mother  of  Pamphila. 

Canthara,^^  a Nurse. 

A Music-girl. 

Scene, — Athens ; before  the  houses  of  Micio  and  Sostrata. 


* From  dTjfiug,  “ the  people.” 

2 From  MiKLdv,  a Greek  proper  name. 

^ From  i^yelodat,  “ to  lead,”  or  “ take  charge  of.” 

^ From  ataxoCi  “disgrace.” 

® From  ktjjgIc,  “ a patrimony,”  and  “light.” 

® From  (javvdc,  “ foolish.” 

’ One  of  the  nation  of  the  Getie. 

® See  the  Dramatis  Personas  of  the  Eunuchus. 

® From  Syria,  his  native  country. 

See  the  Dramatis  Personae  of  the  Andria. 

“ See  the  Dramatis  Personae  of  the  Eunuchus. 

See  the  Dramatis  Personae  of  the  Heautontimorumenos. 
From  Kavdapdg^  “ a cup.” 


THE  SUBJECT, 


Micio  and  Demea  are  two  brothers  of  dissimilar  tempers.  Demea  is 
married,  and  lives  a country  life,  while  his  brother  remains  single, 
and  resides  in  Athens.  Demea  has  two  sons,  the  elder  of  whom, 
,.®schinus,  has  been  adopted  by  Micio.  Being  allowed  by  his  indul- 
gent uncle  to  gratify  his  inclinations  without  restraint,  ,.^Eschinus  has 
debauched  Pamphila,  the  daughter  of  a widow  named  Sostrata.  Hav- 
ing, however,  promised  to  marry  the  young  woman,  he  has  been  par- 
doned for  the  offense,  and  it  has  been  kept  strictly  secret.  Ctesipho, 
who  lives  in  the  country  with  his  father  under  great  restraint,  on 
visiting  the  city,  falls  in  love  with  a certain  Music-girl,  who  belongs 
to  the  Procurer  Sannio.  To  screen  his  brother,  ,^5chinus  takes  the 
responsibility  of  the  affair  on  himself,  and  succeeds  in  carrying  off 
the  girl  for  him.  Demea,  upon  hearing  of  this,  censures  Micio  for 
his  ill-timed  indulgence,  the  bad  effects  of  which  are  thus  exemplified 
in  ^schinus ; and  at  the  same  time  lauds  the  steady  conduct  and 
frugality  of  Ctesipho,  who  has  been  brought  up  under  his  own  super- 
vision. Shortly  after  this,  Sostrata  hears  the  story  about  the  Music- 
girl,  at  the  very  time  that  her  daughter  Pamphila  is  in  labor.  She 
naturally  supposes  that  JEschinus  has  deserted  her  daughter  for 
another,  and  hastens  to  acquaint  Hegio,  her  kinsman,  with  the  fact. 
Meantime  Demea  learns  that  Ctesipho  has  taken  part  in  carrying  off 
the  Music-girl,  whereon  Syrus  invents  a story,  and  screens  Ctesipho 
for  the  moment.  Demea  is  next  informed  by  Hegio  of  the  conduct 
of  ,iEschinus  toward  Pamphila.  Wishing  to  find  his  brother,  he  is  pur- 
posely sent  on  a fruitless  errand  by  Syrus,  on  which  he  wanders  all 
over  the  city  to  no  purpose.  Micio  having  now  been  informed  by 
Hegio,  and  knowing  that  the  intentions  of  ^schinus  toward  Pam- 
phila are  not  changed,  accompanies  him  to  the  house  of  Sostrata, 
whom  he  consoles  by  his  promise  that  jEschinus  shall  many  her 
daughter.  Demea  then  returns  from  his  search,  and,  rushing  into 
Micio’s  house,  finds  his  son  Ctesipho  there  carousing;  on  which  he 
exclaims  vehemently  against  Micio,  who  uses  his  best  endeavors  to 
soothe  him,  and  finally  with  success.  He  now  determines  to  become 
kind  and  considerate  for  the  future.  At  his  request,  Pamphila  is 
brought  to  Micio’s  house,  and  the  nuptials  are  celebrated.  Micio, 
at  the  earnest  request  of  Demea  and  -®schinus,  marries  Sostrata ; 
Hegio  has  a competency  allowed  him ; and  Syrus  and  his  wife 
Phrygia  are  made  free.  The  Play  concludes  with  a serious  warning 
from  Demea,  who  advises  his  relatives  not  to  squander  their  means 
in  riotous  living;  but,  on  the  contrary,  to  bear  admonition  and  to 
submit  to  restraint  in  a spirit  of  moderation  and  thankfulness. 


THE  TITLE  OF  THE  PLAY. 


Performed  at  the  Funeral  Games  of  .^Fmilius  Paulus,’ 
which  were  celebrated  by  Q.  Fabius  Maximus  and  P.  Cor- 
nelius Africanus.  L.  Atilius  Prsenestinus  and  Minutius 
Prothimus  performed  it.  Flaccus,  the  freedman  of  Clau- 
dius, composed  the  music  for  Sarranian  flutes.^  Taken 
from  the  Greek  of  Menander,  L.  Anicius  and  M.  Cornelius 
being  Consuls.^ 

^ Of  uEmilius  Paulus)  This  Play  (from  the  Greek  'k6eA(pol,  “The 
Brothers”)  was  performed  at  the  Funeral  Games  of  Lucius  A^milius 
Paulus,  who  was  surnamed  Macedonicus,  from  having  gained  a victory 
over  Perseus,  King  of  Macedon.  He  was  so  poor  at  the  time  of  his 
decease,  that  they  were  obliged  to  sell  his  estate  in  order  to  pay  his 
widow  her  dower.  The  Q.  Fabius  Maximus  and  P.  Cornelius  Africanus 
here  mentioned  were  not,  as  some  have  thought,  the  Curule  ^diles,  but 
two  sons  of  ^milius  Paulus,  who  had  taken  the  surnames  of  the  fami- 
lies into  which  they  had  been  adopted. 

^ Sarranian  flutes)  The  “Sarranian”  or  “Tyrian”  pipes,  or  flutes, 
are  supposed  to  have  been  of  a quick  and  mirthful  tone ; Madame  Da- 
cier  has  consequently  with  much  justice  suggested  that  the  representa- 
tion being  on  the  occasion  of  a funeral,  the  title  has  not  come  down  to 
us  in  a complete  form,  and  that  it  was  performed  with  the  Lydian,  or 
grave,  solemn  pipe,  alternately  with  the  Tyrian.  This  opinion  is  also 
strengthened  by  the  fact  that  Donatus  expressly  says  that  it  was  per- 
formed to  the  music  of  Lydian  flutes. 

^ Being  Consuls)  L.  Anicjus  Gallus  and  M.  Cornelius  Cethegus  were 
Consuls  in  the  year  from  the  Building  of  the  City  592,  and  n.c.  161. 


ADELPHI;  THE  BEOTHEK& 


THE  SUMMARY  OF  C.  SULPITIUS  APOLLINARIS. 

As  Demea  lias  two  sons^  young  men,  he  gives  -®schinus  to  his  brother 
Micio  to  be  adopted  by  him ; but  he  retains  Ctesipho : him,  captivated 
with  the  charms  of  a Music-girl,  and  under  a harsh  and  strict  father, 
his  brother  ^schinus  screens  ; the  scandal  of  the  aifair  and  the  amour 
he  takes  upon  himself ; at  last,  he  carries  the  Music-girl  away  from 
the  Procurer.  This  same  ^schinus  has  previously  debauched  a poor 
woman,  a citizen  of  Athens,  and  has  given  his  word  that  she  shall  be 
his  wife.  Demea  upbraids  him,  and  is  greatly  vexed ; afterward,  how- 
ever, when  the  truth  is  discovered,  ^schinus  marries  the  girl  who  has 
been  debauched ; and,  his  harsh  father  Demea  now  softened,  Ctesipho 
retains  the  Music-girl. 


THE  PROLOGUE. 

Since  the  Poet  has  found  that  his  writings  are  carped 
at  by  unfair  critics,  and  that  his  adversaries  represent  in  a 
bad  light  the  Play  that  we  are  about  to  perforin,  he  shall 
give  information  about  himself ; you  shall  be  the  judges 
whether  this  ought  to  be  esteemed  to  his  praise  or  to  his  dis- 
credit. The  Synapothnescontes^  is  a Comedy  of  Diphilus 
Plautus  made  it  into  a Play  called  the  ‘‘  Commorientes.’'  In 
the  Greek,  there  is  a young  man,  who,  at  the  early  part  of  the 
Play,  carries  off  a Courtesan  from  a Procurer ; that  part  Plau- 
tus has  entirely  left  out.  This  portion  he  has  adopted  in  the 
Adelphi,  and  has  transferred  it,  translated  word  for  word. 
This  new  Play  we  are  about  to  perform;  determine  then 
whether  you  think  a theft  has  been  committed,  or  a passage 
has  been  restored  to  notice  which  has  been  passed  over  in 

^ Synapothnescontes)—Ye.Y.  6.  Signifying  “ persons  dying  together.’* 
The  “ Commorientes”  of  Plautus  is  lost.  It  has  been  doubted  by  some, 
despite  these  words  of  Terence,  if  Plautus  ever  did  write  such  a Play. 

2 Of  Diphilus) — Ver.  6.  Diphilus  was  a Greek  Poet,  contemporary 
with  Menander. 


Act.  I.,  Sc.  L] 


ADELPHI ; THE  BROTHERS. 


201 


neglect.  as  to  what  these  malevolent  persons  say,  that 

men  of  nobleVank  assist  him,  and  are  always  writing  in  con- 
junction with  hiiVi — that  which  they  deem  to  be  a heavy 
crimination,  he  takes  to  be  the  highest  praise  ; since  he  pleases 
those  who  please  you  all  and  the  public  ; the  aid  of  whom  in 
war,  in  peace,  in  private  business,^  each  one  has  availed  him- 
self of,  on  his  own  occasion,  without  any  haughtiness  on 
their  part.  Now  then,  do  not  expect  the  plot  of  the  Play  ; 
the  old  men^  who  come  first  will  disclose  it  in  part ; a part 
in  the  representation  they  will  make  known.  Do  you  cause 
your  impartial  attention  to  increase  the  industry  of  the  Poet 
in  writing. 


ACT  THE  FIPvST. 

Scene.  I. 

Enter  Micio,  calling  to  a servant  within, 

Mic.  Storax ! Hilschinus  has  not  returned  home  from  the 
entertainment  last  night,  nor  any  of  the  servants  who  went 
to  fetch  him.^  {To  himself »)  Keally,  they  say  it  with  reason, 
if  you  are  absent  any  where,  or  if  you  stay  abroad  at  any  time, 
Twere  better  for  that  to  happen  which  your  wife  says  against 
you,  and  which  in  her  passion  she  imagines  in  her  mind, 
than  the  things  which  fond  parents  fancy.  A wife,  if  you 
stay  long  abroad,  either  imagines  that  you  are  in  love*or  are 
beloved,  or  that  you  are  drinking  and  indulging  your  inclina- 
tion, and  that  you  only  are  taking  your  pleasure,  while  she 
herself  is  miserable.  As  for  myself,  in  consequence  of  my 
son  not  having  returned  home,  what  do  I imagine*?  In  what 
ways  am  1 not  disturbed*?  For  fear  lest  he  may  either  have 

^ In  war^  in  peace,  in  private  business) — Ver.  20.  According  to  L)ona- 
tus,  by  the  words  “ in  bello,”  Terence  is  supposed  to  refer  to  his  friend 
and  patron  Scipio ; by  ‘‘in  otio,”  to  Furius  Publius ; and  in  the  words 
“ in  negotio”  to  Laelius,  who  was  famed  for  his  wisdom. 

The  old  men) — Ver.  23.  This  is  similar  to  the  words  in  the  Pro- 
logue to  the  Trinummus  of  Plautus,  1.  16 : “ But  expect  nothing  about 
the  plot  of  this  Play;  the  old  men  who  will  come  hither  will  disclose 
the  matter  to  you.” 

^ To  fetch  him) — Ver.  24.  “ Advorsum  ierant.”  On  the  duties  of  the 
“ adversitores,”  see  the  Notes  to  Bohn’s  Translation  of  Plautus. 

I 2 


202 


ADELPIII ; 


[Act  I. 


taken  cold,^  or  have  fallen  down  somewhere,  orjhave  broken 
some  limh.  Oh  dear ! that  any  man  should  t^ike  it  into  his 
head,  or  lind  out  what  is  dearer  to  him  tliari  he  is  to  himself! 
And  yet  he  is  not  my  son,  but  my  brother’s.  He  is  quite 
different  in  disposition.  I,  from  my  very  youth  upward, 
have  lived  a comfortable  town  life,  and  taken  my  ease ; and, 
what  they  esteem  a piece  of  luck,  I have  never  had  a wife. 
He,  on  the  contrary  to  all  this,  has  spent  his  life  in  the 
country,  and  has  always  lived  laboriously  and  penuriously. 
He  married  a wife,  and  has  two  sons.  This  one,  the  elder 
of  them,  I have  adopted.  I have  brought  him  up  from  an 
infant,  and  considered  and  loved  him  as  my  own.  In  him  I 
centre  my  delight;  this  object  alone  is  dear  to^me.  On  the 
other  hand,  I take  all  due  care  that  he  may  hold  mo 
equally  dear.  I give — I overlook ; I do  not  judge  it  neces- 
sary to  exert  my  authority  in  every  thing ; in  fine,  the 
things  that  youth  prompts  to,  and  that  others  do  unknown 
to  their  fathers,  I have  used  my  soti  not  to  conceal  from 
me.  For  he,  who,  as  the  practice  is,  will  dare  to  tell  a lie 
to  or  to  deceive  his  father,  will  still  more  dare  to  do  so  to 
others.  I think  it  better  to  restrain  children  through  a 
sense  of  shame  and  liberal  treatment,  than  through  fear. 
On  these  points  my  brother  does  not  agree  with  me,  nor 
do  they  please  him.  He  often  comes  to  me  exclaiming, 

What  are  you  about,  Micio^?  Why  do  you  ruin  for  us 
this  youth?  Why  does  he  intrigue?  Why  does  he  drink? 
Why  do  you  supply  him  with'  the  means  for  these  goings 
on  ? You  indulge  him  with  too  much  dress  ; you  are 
very  inconsiderate.”  He  himself  is  too  strict,  beyond  what 
is  just  and  reasonable;  and  he  is  very  much  mistaken,  in  my 
opinion,  at  all  events,  who  thinks  that  an  authority  is  more 
firm  or  more  lasting  which  is  established  by  force,  than  that 
which  is  founded  on  affection.  Such  is  my  mode  of  reason- 

^ Either  have  taken  cold) — Ver.  36.  Westerhovius  observes  that  this 
passage  seems  to  be  taken  from  one  in  the  Miles  Gloriosus  of  Plautus, 
1.  721,  et  seq. : “Troth,  if  I had  had  them,  enough  anxiety  should  I 
have  had  from  my  children  ; I should  have  been  everlastingly  tormented 
in  mind : but  if  percljance  one  had  had  a fever,  I think  I should  have 
died.  Or  if  one  in  liquor  had  tumbled  any  where  from  his  horse,  I 
should  have  been  afraid  that  he  had  broken  his  legs  or  neck  on  that  oc- 
casion.” It  may  be  remarked  that  there  is  a great  resemblance  between 
the  characters  of  Micio  here  and  Periplecomenns  in  the  Miles  Gloriosus. 


So.  II.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


203 


ing ; and  thus  do  I persuade  myself.  He,  who,  compelled  by 
harsh  treatment,  does  his  duty,  so  long  as  he  thinks  it  will  be 
known,  is  on  his  guard : if  he  hopes  that  it  will  be  concealed, 
he  again  returns  to  his  natural  bent.  He  whom  you  have  se- 
cured by  kindness,  acts  from  inclination ; he  is  anxious  to  re- 
turn like  for  like ; present  and  absent,  he  will  be  the  same. 
Tliis  is  the  duty  of  a parent,  to  accustom  a son  to  do  what  is 
right  rather  of  his  own  choice,  than  throAJgh  fear  of  another. 
In  this  fhe  father  differs  from  the  master : he  who  can  not  do 
this,  let  him.  confess  that  he  does,  not  know  how  to  govern 
children.  But  is  not  this  the  very  man  of  whom  I was  speak- 
ing? Surely  it  is  he.  I don’t  know  why  it  is  I see  him  out 
of  spirits ; I suppose  he’ll  now  be  scolding  as  usual.  Demea, 
I am  glad  to  see  you  well.^ 

Scene  II. 

Enter  De^ea. 

Dem.  Oh, — opportunely  met ; you.  are  the  very  man  I was 
looking  for.2 

Mic.  Why  are  you  out  of  spirits  ? 

Dem.  Do  you  ask  me,  when  we  have  such  a son  as  JEschi- 
nus,^  why  I’m  out  of  spirits  ? 

Mic.  (aside,)  Did  I not  say  it  would  be  so?  {To  Demea.) 
What  has  he  been  doing  ? 

Dem.  What  has  he  been  doing?  He,  who  is  ashamed  of 
nothing,  and  fears  no  one,  nor  thinks  that  any  law  can  con- 
trol him.  But  I pass  by  what  has  been  previously  done : 
what  a thing  he  has  just  perpetrated ! 

Mic.  Why,  what  is  it  ? 

Dem.  He  has  broken  open  a door,*^  and  forced  his  way 

^ To  see  you  well) — Yer.  81.  Cooke  remarks,  that  though  there  are 
several  fine  passages  in  this  speech,  and  good  observations  on  human 
life,  yet  it  is  too  long  a soliloquy. 

^ I was  looking  for) — Ver.  81.  Donatus  observes  that  the  Poet  has  in 
this  place  improved  upon  Menander,  in  representing  Demea  as  more 
ready  to  wrangle  with  his  brother  than  to  return  his  compliments. 

^ Such  a son  as  TEschinus) — Ver.  82.  The  passage  pretty  clearly 
means  by  /‘ubi  nobis  .^schinus  sit,”  ‘‘when  I’ve  got  such  a son  as 
JEschinus.”  Madame  Dacier,  hoAvever,  would  translate  it:  “Ask  me 
— you,  in  Avhose  house  .iEschinus  is?”  thus  accusing  him  of  harboring 
ACschinus  ; a very  forced  construction,  however. 

^ Broken  open  a door) — Yer.  88.  The  works  of  Ovid  and  Plautus  show 


204 


ADELPHI; 


[Act  I. 


into  another  person’s  house,  beaten  to  death  llie  master  him- 
self, and  all  the  household,  and  carried  off  a wench  wliom  he 
had  a fancy  for.  All  people  are  exclaiming  that  it  was  a 
most  disgraceful  proceeding.  How  many,  Micio,  told  me  of 
this  as  I was  coming  here?  It  is  in  every  body’s  mouth. 
In  fine,  if  an  example  must  be  cited,  docs  he  not  see  Ins 
brother  giving  his  attention  to  business,  and  living  frugally 
and  soberly  in  the  country?  -No  ^tion  of  his  is  like  this. 
When  I say  this  to  him,  Micio,  I say  it  to  you.  Ye^u  allow 
him  to  be  corrupted. 

Mic.  Never  is  there  any  thing  more  unreasonable  than  a 
man  who  wants  experience,  who  thinks  nothing  right  except 
what  he  himself  has  done. 

Dem.  What  is  the  meaning  of  that  ? 

Mic.  Because,  Demea,  j^ou  misjudge  these  matters.  It  is 
no  heinous  crime,  believe  me,  for  a 5^oung  man  to  intrigue  or 
to  drink ; it  is  not ; nor  yet  for  him  to  break  open  a door. 
If  neither  I nor  3^011  did  so,  it  -was  poverty  that  did  not  allow 
us  to  do  so.  Do  you  now  claim  that  as  a merit  to  yourself, 
which  you  then  did  from  necessity?  That  is  unfair;  for  if 
we  had  had  the  means  to  do  so,  we  should  have  done  the 
same.  And,  if  you  were  a man,  you  would  now  suffer  that 
other  son  of  yours  to  act  thus  now,  while  his  age  will  excuse 
it,  rather  than,  when  he  has  got  you,  after  long  wishing  it, 
out  of  the  way,  he  should  still  do  so,  at  a future  day,  and  at 
an  age  more  unsuited. 

Dem.  O Jupiter!  You,  sir,  are  driving  me  to  distraction. 
Is  it  not  a heinous  thing  for  a young  man  to  do  these 
things? 

Mic.  Oh!  do  listen  to  me,  and  do  not  everlastingly  din 
me  upon  this  subject.  You  gave  me  your  son  to  adopt;  he 
became  mine;  if  he  offends  in  any  thing,  Demea,  he  offends 
against  me : in  that  case  I shall  bear  the  greater  part  of  the 
inconvenienoe.  Does  he  feast,  ^ does  he  drink,  does  he  smell 

that  it  was  no  uncommon  thing  for  riotous  young  men  to  break  or  en 
doors;  Ovid  even  suggests  to  the  lover  the  expediency  of  getting  into 
the  house  through  the  windows. 

" Does  he  feast) — Ver.  117.  Colman  has  the  following  observation 
liere : “ The  mild  character  of  Micio  is  contrasted  by  Cicero  to  that  of 
a furious,  savage,  severe  father,  as  drawn  by  the  famous  C'^mic  l^oet, 
Csecilius.  Both  writers  are  quoted  in  the  Oration  for  in  the 


Sc.  IL] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


205 

of  perfumes,^ — it  is  at  my  cost.  Does  he  intrigue,  money 
shall  be  found  by  me,  so  ^ong  as  it  suits  me  ; when  it  shall 
be  no  longer  convenient^  probably  he’ll  be  shut  out  of  doors.*- 
lias  he  broken  open  a floor — it  shall  be  replaced  ; has  he  torn 
any  one’s  clothes — they  shall  be  mended.  Tlianks  to  the 
Gods,  I both  have  means  for  doing  this,  and  these  things  are 
not  as  yet  an  annoyance.  In  fine,  either  desist,  or  else  find 
some  arbitrator  between  ^us:  I will  show  that  in  this  matter 
you  are  the  most  to  blame. 

Dem.  Ah  me ! Learn  to  be  a father  from  those  who  are 
really  so. 

Mic.  You  are  his  father  by  nature,  I by  my  anxiety. 

Dem.  You,  feel  any  anxiety? 

Mic.  Oh  dear, — if  you  persist.  I’ll  leave  you. 

Dem.  Is  it  thus  you  act  ? 

Mic.  Am  I so  often  to  hear  about  the  same  thing  ? 

De3I.  I have  some  conQ^vn  for  my  son, 

Mic.  I have  some  concern  yb?"  him  too  ; but,  Demea,  let  us 
each  be  concerned  for  his  own  share — you  for  the  one,  and  I 
for  the  other.  For,  to  concern  yourself  about  both  is  almost 
the  same  thing  as  to  demand  him  back  again,  whom  you  in- 
trusted to  me. 

Dem.  Alas,  Micio  ! 

Mic.  So  it  seems  to  me. 

Dem.  What  can  I to  say  to  this?  If  it  pleases  you,  hence- 
forth— let  him  spend,  squander,  caul  destroy;  it’s  nothing  to 
me.  If  I say  one  word  after  this 

Mic.  Again  angry,  Demea? 

Dem.  Won’t  you  believe  me?  Do  I demand  him  back 
whom  I have  intrusted  ? I am  concerned  for  him ; I am 

not  a stranger  in  blood ; if  I do  interpose well,  well,  I 

have  done.  You  desire  me  to  concern  myself  for  one  of 

composition  of  which  it  is  plain  that  the  orator  kept  his  eye  ])rctty 
closely  on  onr  Poet.  The  passages  from  Caeciliiis  contain  all  that  ve- 
hemence and  severity  which,  as  Horace  tells  us,  was  accounted  the 
common  character  of  the  style  of  that  author.” 

^ Smell  of  perfumes) — Ver.  117.  For  an  account  of  the  “ungnenta,” 
or  perfumes  in  use  among  the  ancients,  see  the  Notes  to  Bohn’s  Trans- 
lation of  Plautus. 

“ Will  be  shut  out  of  doors) — Ver.  119.  No  doubt  by  his  mistress, 
when  she.  has  drained  him  of  his  money,  and  not  by  Micio  liimself,  as 
Colman  says  he  was  once  led  to  imagine. 


20G 


ADELPHI ; 


[Act  II. 


them^ — I do  concern  myself ; and  I give  thanks  to  the  Gods, 
he  is  just  as  I would  have  him ; that  fellow  of  yours  will  find^ 
it  out  at  a future  da/c:  I don’t  wish  to  say  any  thing  more 
harsh  against  him.  {Exit. 


Scene  III. 

Micio  alone. 

Mic.  These  things  are^  not  nothing  at  all,  nor  yet  all  just 
as  he  says  ; still  they  do  give  me  some  uneasiness  ; but  I 
was  unwilling  to  show  him  that  I took  them  amiss,  for  he 
is  such  a man ; when  I would  pacify  him,  I steadily  oppose 
and  resist  him  ; and  in  spite  of  it  he  hardly  puts ^up  with  it 
like  other  men ; but  if  I were  to  inflame,  or  even  to  humor 
his  anger,  I should  certainly  be  as  mad  as  himself.  And  yet 
AEschinus  has  done  me  some  injustice  ifi  thi^  affair.  What 
courtesan  has  he  not  intrigued  with  ? Or  to  which  of  them 
has  he  not  made  some  present  ? At  last,  he  recently  told 
me  that  he  wished  to  take  a wife,'*^  I suppose  he  was  just 
then  tired  of  them  all,  I was  in  hopes  that  the  warmth 
of  youth  had  now  subsided  ; I was  delighted.  But  look 
now^  he  is  at  it  again  ; however,  I am  determined  to  know 
it,  whatever  it  is,  and  to  go  meet  the  fellow,  if  he  is  at  the 
Forum.  {Exit. 


ACT  THE  SECOND. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  ^schinus  and  Parmeno  with  the  Music-girl, 
followed  by  Sannio  and  a crowd  of  people.' 

‘ San.  I beseech  you,  fellow-citizens,  do  give  aid  to  a miser- 
able and  innocent  man ; do  assist  the  distressed, 

^ These  things  are) — Yer.  141.  Donatus  observes  here,  that  Terence 
seems  inclined  to  favor  the  part  of  mild  fathers.  He  represents  Micio 
as  appalled  at  his  adopted  son’s  irregularities,  lest  if  he  should  appear 
wholly  unmoved,  he  should  seem  to  be  corrupting  him,  rather  than  to 
he  treating  him  with  only  a proper  degree  of  indulgence. 

^ Wished  to  take  a wife) — Ver.  151.  Donatus  remarks  here,  that  the 
art  of  Terence  in  preparing  his  incidents  is  wonderful.  He  contrives 
that  even  ignorant  persons  shall  open  the  plot,  as  in  the  present  instance. 


Sc.  L] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


207 


^scii.  {to  the  Girl.)  Be  quiet,  and  now  then  stand  here 
just  where  you  are.  Why  do  you  look  back?  There’s  no 
clanger ; he  shall  never  touch  you  while  I am  here. 

San.  I’ll  have  her,  in  spite  of  all. 

^SCH.  Though  he  is  a villain,  he’ll  not  risk,  to-day,  get- 
ting a second  beating. 

San.  Hear  me,  H^schinus,  that  you  may  not  say  that  you 
were  in  ignorance  of  my  calling;  I am  a Procurer. ^ 

^SCH.  I know  it.,  ^ 

San.  And  of  as  high  a character  as  any  one  ever  was. 
When  you  shall  be  excusing  yourself  by-and-by,  how  that  you 
wish  this  injury  had  not  been  done  m^,  I shall  not  value  it 
this  {snapping  his  fingers).  Depend  upon  it,  I’ll  prosecute  my 
rights;  and  you  shall  never  pay  with  words  forphe  eVil  that 
you  have  done  me  in  deed.  I know  those  ways  of  yours  : I 
wish  it  hadn’t  happened;  I’ll  take  my  oath  that  you^did  not 
deserve  this  injustice ;”  while  I m.yself  have  been  treated  in  a 
disgraceful  manner. 

2Esch.  {to  Parmeno.)  Go  first  with  all  dispatch  and  open 
the  door.  (Parmeno  opens  the  door.) 

San.  But  you  will  avail  nothing  by  this. 

JEscii.  {To  the  Girl.)  Now  then,  step  in. 

San.  {coming  between.)  But  I’ll  not  let  her. 

AilscH.  Step  this  way,  Parmeno  ; you  are  gone  too  far  that 
way;  here  {pointing)^  stand  close  by  him;  there,  that’s  what 
I want.  Now  then,  take  care  you  don’t  move  your  eyes 
in  any  direction  from  mine,  that  there  may  be  no  delay  if  I 
give  you  the  sign,  to  your  fist  being  instantly  planted  in  his 
jaws. 

San.  I’d  have  him  then  try  that. 

A^sch.  {to  Parmeno.)  Now  then,  observe  me. 

Par.  {to  Sannio.)  Let  go  the  woman.  {Strikes  him.) 

San.  Oh ! scandalous  deed ! 

where  we  understand  that  iEschinus  has  mentioned  to  Micio  his  inten- 
tion of  taking  a wife,  though  he  has  not  entered  into  particulars.  This 
naturally  leads  us  to  the  ensuing  parts  of  the  Play,  without  forestalling 
any  of  the  circumstances. 

* I am  a Procurer) — Ver.  IGl.  He  says  this  aloud,  and  wdth  empha- 
sis, relying  upon  the  laws  -which  were  enacted  at  Athens  in  favor  of  the 
“lenones,”  whose  occupation  brought  great  profits  to  the  state,  from 
their  extensive  trading  in  slaves.  It  w’as  forbidden  to  maltreat  them, 
under  pain  of  being  disinherited. 


208  ADELPHI;  [Act  11. 

AEsch.  He  shall  repeat  it,  if  you  don’t  take  care.  (Pak- 
MENO  strikes  him  again.) 

San.  Oh  shocking! 

H^sch.  {to  Parmeno.)  I didn’t  give  the  sign ; but  still  make 
your  mistakes  on  that  side  in  preference.  Now  then,  go. 
(Paiimeno  goes  with  the  Music-gire  into  Micio’s  house.) 

San.  What  is  the  meaning  of  this?  Plave  you  the  sway 
here,  ^schinus? 

H^scn.  If  I had  it,  you  should  be  exalted  for  your  deserts. 

.San.  What  business  have  you  with  me  ? 

iEscii.  None. 

San.  How  then,  do  you  know  ^ho  I am  ? 

iEscii.  I don’t  want  to. 

San.  Have  I touched  any  thing  of  yours? 

AEscri.  If  you  had  touched  it,  you’d  have  got  a drubbing. 

San.  What  greater  right  then  have  you  to  take  my^ro/)cr^^, 
for  which  I paid  my  money?  Answer  me  that. 

iEscii.  It  were  better  for  you  not  to  be  making  a disturb- 
ance here  before  the  house;  for  if  you  persist  in  being  imper- 
tinent, you  shall  be  dragged  in  at  once,  and  there  you  shall 
bo  lashed  to  death  with  whips. 

San.  a free  man,  with  whips  ? 

A^sch.  So  it  shall  be. 

San.  Oh,  you  shameless  fellow ! Is  this  the  place  where 
they  say  there  is  equal  liberty  for  all? 

AEsch.  If  you  have  now  raved  enough.  Procurer,  now  then 
listen,  if  you  please. 

San.  Why,  is  it  I that  have  been  raving,  or  you  against 
me  ? 

AEscii.  Leave  alone  all  that,  and  come  to  the  point. 

San.  What  point?  Where  am  I to  come  to? 

AEsch.  Are  you  willing  now  that  I should  say  something 
that  concerns  you? 

San.  With  all  my  heart,  only  so  it  be  something  that’s  fair. 

A^^scii.  Very  fine ! a Procurer  wishing  me  not  to  say  what’s 
unfair. 

San.  I am  a Procurer,’  I confess  it — the  common  bane  of 
youth — a perjurer,  a 'public  nuisance;  still,  no  injury  has  be- 
fallen you  from  me. 

* I am  a Procurer) — Ver.  188.  Westerliovms  supposes  this  part  to  be 
a translation  from  the  works  of  Diphilus. 


Sc.  II.] 


THE  BHOTHERS. 


209 


^]scii.  Why,  faith,  that  remains  to  come 

San.  Pray,  -3^schinus,  do  come  back  to  the  point  at  which 
you  set  out. 

^SCH.  You  bought  her  for  twenty  minae ; and  may  your 
bargain  never  thrive  1 That  sum  shall  be  given  for  her, 

San.  What  if  I don’t  choose  to  sell  her  to  you?  Will  you 
compel  me  ? 

^Pscii.  By  no  means. 

San.  I was  afraid*  yor^  would. 

-d^scii.  Neither  do  I think  that  a woman  can  be  sold  who 
is  free;  for  I claim  her  by  action  of  freedom.^  Now  consider 
which  you  choose ; take  the  money,  or  prepare  yourself  for 
the  action.  Think  of  it.  Procurer,  till  I return.^  (He  goes 
into  the  house  of  MiciO.) 

Scene  II. 

Sannio  alone, 

San.  (to  himself.)  O supreme  Jupiter!  I do  by  no  means 
■wonder  that  men  run  mad  through  ill  usage.  He  has  dragged 
me  out  of  my  house,  beaten  me,  taken  my  iwoperty  away 
against  my  will,  and  has  given  me,  unfortunate  wretch,  more 
than  live  hundred  blows.  In  return  for  all  this  ill  usage  he 
demands  the  girl  to  be  made  over  to  him  for  just  the  same 
price  at  which  she  was  bought.  But  however,  since  he  has 
so  well  deserved  of  me^  be  it  so : he  demands  what  is  his  due. 
Very  well,  I consent  then,  provided  he  only  gives  the  money. 
But  I suspect  this ; when  I have  said  that  I will  sell  her  for 
so  much,  he’ll  be  getting  witnesses  forthwith  that  I have 
sold  her.3  As  to  getting  the  money,  it’s  all  a dream.  Call 
again  by  and  by ; come  back  to-morrow.  I could  bear  with 

^ By  action  of  freedom) — Ver.  194.  ‘‘Asserere  liberati  causa,”  was 
to  assert  the  freedom  of  a person,  with  a determination  to  maintain  it 
at  law.  The  “ assertor”  laid  hands  upon  the  person,  declaring  that  he 
or  she  was  free  ; and  till  the  cause  was  tried,  the  person  whose  freedom 
was  claimed,  remained  in  the  hands  of  the  “ assertor.” 

^ Till  I return) — Ver.  196.  Colman  has  a curious  remark  here:  “I 
do  not  remember,  in  the  whole  circle  of  modern  comedy,  a more  natural 
picture  of  the  elegant  ease  and  indifference  of  a fine  gentleman,  than 
that  exhibited  in  this  Scene  in  the  character  of^schinus.” 

3 That  I have  sold  her') — Ver.  204.  He  means,  that  if  he  only  names 


210 


ADELPHI; 


[Act  H. 


that  too,  hard  as  it  is,  if  he  would  only  pay  it.  But  I con- 
sider this  to  be  the  fact ; when  you  take  up  this  trade,  you 
must  brook  and  bear  in  silence  the  alfronts  of  these  young  fel- 
lows. However,  no  one  will  pay  me ; it’s  in  vain  for  me  to 
be  reckoning  upon  that. 


Scene  HI. 

Enter  Syrus, the  house  o/Micio. 

Syr.  {speaking  to  AEschinus  ivithin.)  Say  no  more  ; I my- 
self will  arrange  with  him ; I’ll  make  him  glad  to  take  the 
money  at  once,  and  say  besides  that  lie  has  been  fairly  dealt 
with.  {Addressing  Sannio.)  Sannio,  how  is  this,  that  I hear 
you  have  been  having  some  dispute  or  other  with  my  mas- 
ter ? 

San.  I never  saw  a dispute  on  more  unequal  terms^  than  ^ 
the  one  that  has  happened  to-day  between  us ; I,  with  being 
thumped,  he,  with  beating  me,  were  both  of  us  quite  tired. 

Syr.  Your  own  fault. 

San.  What  could  I do  ? 

Syr.  You  ought  to  have  yielded  to  the  young  man. 

San.  How  could  I more  so,  when  to-day  I have  even  af- 
forded my  face  to  his  blows  1 

Syr.  Well — are  you'  aware  of  what  I tell  you  % To  slight 
money  on  some  occasions  is  sometimes  the  surest  gain. 
What! — were  you  afraid,  you  greatest  simpleton  alive,  if  you 
had  parted  with  ever  so  little^  of  your  right,  and  had  hu- 
mored the  young  man,  that  he  would  not  repay  you  with  in- 
terest ? 


a price,  JEscliinus  will  suborn  witnesses  to  say  that  he  has  agreed  to 
sell  her,  in  which  case  jEschinus  will  carry  her  off  with  impunity,  and 
the  laws  will  not  allow  him  to  recover  her ; as  it  will  then  be  an  ordina- 
ry debt,  and  he  will  be  put  off  with  all  the  common  excuses  used  b}^ 
debtors. 

^ On  more  unequal  terms) — Yer.  212.  “ Certationem  comparatam.” 
This  was  a term  taken  from  the  combats  of  gladiators,  where  it  was 
usual  to  choose  as  combatants  such  as  seemed  most  nearly  a match  for 
each  other. 

^ If  you  had  parted  with  ever  so  little) — Yer.  217.  This  passage  is 
probably  alluded  to  by  Cicero,  in  his  work,  De  Officiis,  B.  ii.  c.  18  : 
‘‘For  it  is  not  only  liberal  sometimes  to  give  up  a little  of  one’s  rights, 
but  it  is  also  profitable.” 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


211 


San.  I do  not  pay  ready  money  for  hope. 

Syr.  Then  you’ll  never  make  a fortune.  Get  out  with  you, 
Sannio ; you  don’t  know  how  to  take  in^  mankind. 

San.  I believe  that  to  be  the  better  — but  I was  never 

so  cunning  as  not,  whenever  I was  able  to  get  it,  to  prefer 
getting  ready  money. 

Syr.  Come,  come,  I know  your  spirit ; as  if  twenty  minse 
were  any  thing  at  all  to  you  in  comparison  to  obliging  him ; 
besides,  they  say  that  you  are  setting  out  for  Cyprus — ^ — 

San.  {aside,)  Hah ! 

Syr,  That  you  have  been  buying  up  many  things  to  take 
thither;  and  that  the  vessel  is  hired.  This  I know,  your 
mind  is  in  suspense ; however,  when  you  return  thence,  I 
hope  you’ll  settle  the  matter. 

San.  Not  a foot  cZo Heavens ! I’m  undone!  [Aside,) 
It  was  upon  this  hope  they  devised  their  project. 

Syr.  [aside,)  He  is  alarmed.  I’ve  brought  the  fellow  into 
a fix. 

San.  {aside,)  Oh,  what  villainy  I — Just  look  at  that ; how 
he  has  nicked  me  in  the  very  joint. ^ Several  womens  have 
been  purchased,  and  other  things  as  well,  for  me  to  take 
to  Cyprus.^  If  I don’t  get  there  to  the  fair,  my  loss  will  bo 
very  great.  Then  if  I postpone  this  business^  and  settle  it 
when  I come  back  from  there,  it  will  be  of  no  use ; the  matter 
will  be  quite  forgotten.  Come  at  lastf  ’ they’ll  say.  ‘‘  Why 

did  you  delay  it?  Where  have  you  been?”  So  that  I had 
better  lose  it  altogether  than  either  stay  hero  so  long,  or  be 
suing  for  it  then. 

Syr.  Have  you  by  this  reckoned^  up  what  you  calculate 
will  be  your  profits  ? 


^ In  the  very  joint) — Ver.  229.  ‘‘Ut  in  ipso  articulo  oppressit.”  Col- 
man  translafes  this,  ‘‘Nick’d  me  to  a hair.” 

“ To  take  to  Cyprus) — Ver.  230.  He  alludes  to  a famous  slave-market 
held  in  the  Isle  of  Cyprus,  whither  merchants  carried  slaves  for  sale, 
after  buying  them  up  in  all  parts  of  Greece. 

^ Have  you  by  this  reckoned) — Ver.  23G.  “ Jamne  enumerasti  id  quod 
ad  te  rediturum  putes  ?”  Colman  renders  this,  “ Well,  have  you  calcu- 
lated what’s  your  due?”  referring  to  the  value  of  the  Music-girl  that 
has  been  taken  away  from  him  ; and  thinks  that  the  following  conver- 
sation between  Sannio  and  Syrus  supports  that  construction.  Madame 
Dacier  puts  another  sense  on  the  words,  and  understands  them  as  al- 
luding to  Sannio’s  calculation  of  his  expected  ])rofits  at  Cyprus. 


212 


ADELPHI ; 


[Act  II. 


San.  Is  this  honorable  of  him  ? Ought  ^schinus  to  at- 
tempt this?  Ought  he  to  endeavor  to  take  her  away  from 
me  by  do\vnright  violence  ? 

Syr.  {aside.)  He  gives  ground.  {To  Sannio.)  I have  this 
owQ proposal  to  make;  see  if  you  fully  approve  of  it.  Rather 
than  you  should  run  the  risk,  Sannio,  of  getting  or  losing  the 
whole,  halve  it.  He  will  manage  to  scrape  together  ten  minae^ 
from  some  quarter  or  other. 

San.  Ah  me ! unfortunate  wretch,  I am  now  in  danger  of 
even  losing  part  of  the  principal.  Has  he  no  shame  ? He 
has  loosened  all  my  teeth ; my  head,  too,  is  full  of  bumps 
with  his  cuffs ; and  would  he  defraud  me  as  well  ? I shall  go 
nowhere. 

Syr.  Just  as  you  please.  Have  you  any  thing  more  to  say 
before  I go  ? 

San.  Why  yes,  Syrus,  i’  faith,  I have  this  to  request. 
Whatever  the  matters  that  are  past,  rather  than  go  to  law, 
let  what  is  my  own  be  returned  me ; at  least,  Syrus,  the  sum 
she  cost  me.  I know  that  you  have  not  hitherto  made  trial 
of  my  friendship ; you  will  have  no  occasion  to  say  that  1 am 
unmindful  or  ungrateful. 

Syr.  ril  do  the  best  I can.  But  I see  Ctesipho ; he’s  in 
high  spirits  about  his  mistress. 

San.  What  about  what  I was  asking  you  ? 

Syr.  Stay  a little. 


Scene  IY. 

Enter  Ctesipho,  at  the  other  side  of  the  stage. 

Ctes.  From  any  man,  when  you  stand  in  need  of  it,  you 
are  glad  to  receive  a service ; but  of  a truth  it  is  doubly  ac- 
ceptable, if  he  does  you  a kindness  who  ought  tor  do  so.  O 
brother,  brother,  how  can  I sufficiently  commend  you  ? This 
I am  quite  sure  of;  I can  never  speak  of  you  in  such  high 
terms  but  that  your  deserts  will  surpass  it.  For  I am  of 
opinion  that  I possess  this  one  thing  in  especial  beyond  all 

^ Scrape  together  ten  mince) — Ver.  212.  Donatus  remarks,  that  Syrus 
knows  very  well  that  JEschinus  is  ready  to  pay  the  whole,  but  offers 
Sannio  half,  that  he  may  be  glad  to  take  the  bare  principal,  and  think 
himself  well  off  into  the  bargain. 


Sc.  V.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


213 


others,  a brother  than  whom  no  individual  is  more  highly  en- 
dowed with  the  highest  qualities. 

Syr.  O Ctesipho! 

Ctes.  O Syrus,  where  is  ^.schinus  ^ 

Syr.  Why,  look — he’s  at  home,  waiting  for  you. 

Ctes.  {speaking joyously.)  Ha! 

Syr.  What’s  the  matter  1 

Ctes.  What’s  the  matter?  ’Tis  through  him,  Syrus,  that 
I am  now  alive — generous  creature  I Has  he  not  deemed 
every  thing  of  secondary  importance  to  himself  in  comparison 
with  my  happ'ness  ? The  reproach,  the  discredit,  my  own 
amour  and  imprudence,  he  has  taken  upon  himself.  There 
can  be  nothing  beyond  this ; but  what  means  that  noise  at  the 
door? 

Syr.  Stay,  stay ; ’tis  jEscliinus  himself  coming  out. 

Scene  Y. 

Enter  -^SLsctiinus,  from  the  house  of  Micio. 

uEsch.  Where  is  that  villain  ? 

San.  {aside.)  He’s  Tvooking  for  me.^  Is  he  bringing  any 
thing  with  him  7 Confus  ion  1 I don’t  see  any  thing. 

^SCH.  {to  Ctesipho-;)  Ha!  well  met;  you  are  the  very 
man  I was  looking  for.  How  goes  it,  Ctesipho  ? All  is  safe : 
away  then  with  your  rznelancholy. 

Ctes.  By  my  troth,  I certainly  will  away  with  it,  when  I 
have  such  a brot’her  as  you.  O my  dear  JEschinus ! O my 
brother!  Alas!  I am  unwilling  to  praise  you  any  more  to 
your  face,  lest  you  should  think  I do  so  rather  for  flattery  than 
through  grathtude. 

-^SCH.  'Go  to,  you  simpleton ! as  though  we  didn’t  by  this 
time  ur^derstand  each  other,  Ctesipho.  This  grieves  me,  that 
we  k new  of  it  almost  too  late,  and  that  the  matter  had  come 
to  si  ach  a pass,  that  if  all  mankind  had  wished  they  could  not 
pos  sibly  have  assisted  you. 

Ctes.  I felt  ashamed. 

^ He's  looking  for  ttzc)— Ver.  265.  Donatns  remarks  upon  the  readi- 
n ess  with  which  Saiinio  takes  the  appellation  of  sacrilcgus,”  as  adapt- 
e d to  no  other  person  than  himself. 


214 


ADELP 


[Act  IP,  Sc.  V. 


^scii.  Pooh!  tliat  is  folly,  not  shame;  Jibout  such  a tri- 
fling matter  to  he  almost the  country!^  ’Tis  shocking 
to  be  mentioned ; I pray  the  Gods  may  forbid  it ! 

Ctes.  I did  wrong. 

iEscii.  {in  a lower  voice,)  What  says  Sannio  to  us  at  last*? 

Syr.  He  is  pacified  at  last. 

^scri.  I’ll  go  to  the  Forum  to  pay  him  off ; you,  Ctesipho, 
step  in-doors  to  her. 

San.  {aside  to  Syrus.)  Syrus,  do  urge  the  matter, 

Syr.  {to  AEsciiinus.)  Let  us  be  off,  for  he  is  in  haste  for 
Cyprus.^ 

San.  Not  particularly  so ; although  still,  I’m  stopping  here 
doing  nothing  at  all. 

Syr.  It  shall  be  paid,  don’t  fear. 

San.  But  he  i^  to  pay  it  all. 

Syr.  He  shall  pay  it  all ; only  hold  your  tongue  and  follow 
us  this  way. 

San.  I’ll  follow. 

Ctes.  {as  Syrus  is  going,)  Harkye,  harkye,  Syrus. 

Syr.  {turning  bach)  Well  now,  what  is  it? 

Ctes.  {asiS^,  discharge  that  imost  abominable  fel- 

low as  soon  a^'‘p^fesA)le ; for  fear,  in  case  he  should  become 
more  angrV  by  some  means  or  other  tbis  matter  should  reach 
my  father,  aiid  then  I should  be  ruined  forever. 

Syr.  That  shall  not  happen,  be  of'  good  heart ; meanwhile 
enjoy  yourself  in-doors  with  her,  and  order  the  couches^  to  be 
spread  for  us,  and  the  other  things  to  bu  .got  ready.  As  soon 
as  this  business  is  settled,  I shall  come  home  with  the  pro- 
visions. 

Ctes.  Pray  do  so.  Since  this  has  turned  o.ut  so  well,  let  ns 


' Flying  the  country) — Yer.  275.  Donat  us  tells  us,  that  in  Menander 
the  young  man  was  on  the  point  of  killing  himself.  TerehCve  has  here 
softened  it  into  leaving  the  country.  Colman  remarks:  “VYe  know 
that  the  circumstance  of  carrying  off  the  Music-girl  was  borrawea’  from 
Diphilus;  yet  it  is  plain  from  Donatus  that  there  was  also  an  int.dgue 
by  Ctesipho  in  the  Play  of  Menander ; which  gives  another  proof  d./  the 
manner  in  which  Terence  used  the  Greek  Comedies.” 

^ He  is  in  haste  for  Cyprus) — Yer.  278.  Donatus  remarks  that  t.  his 
is  a piece  of  malice  on  the  part  of  Syrus,  for  the  purpose  of  teasi  ng 
dannio. 

^ Order  the  couches) — Yer.  285.  Those  used  for  the  purpose  of  recliff  - 
ing  on  at  the  entertainment. 


Act  III.,  Sc.  II.] 


TilE  BROTHERS. 


215 


make  a cheerful  day  of  it.  (Ctesipho  goes  into  the  house  of 
Micio ; and  exeunt  uiEscriiNUS  and  Syrus,  followed  by  8an- 
NIO.) 


ACT  TPIE  THIRD. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Sostrata  and  Canthara,  from  the  house  of  the  former. 

Sos.  Prithee,  my  dear  nurse,  how  is  it  like  to  end  ? 

Can.  Like  to  end,  do  you  ask?  T troth,  right  well,  I 
trust. 

Sos.  Her  pains  are  just  beginning,  my  dear. 

Can.  You  are  in  a fright  now,  just'  as  though  you  had 
never  been  present  on  such  an  occasion — never  been  in  labor 
yourself. 

Sos.  Unfortunate  woman  that  I am  ! I have  not  a person 
at  home;  w.e  are  quite  alone  ; Geta  too  is  absent.  I have  no 
one  to  go  for  the  midwife,  or  to  fetch  ^scliiniis. 

Can.  T faith,  he’ll  certainly  be  here  just  now,  for  he  never 
lets  a day  pass  without  visiting  us. 

Sos.  He  is  my  sole  comfort  in  my  afflictions. 

Can.  Things  could  not  have  happened,  mistress,  more  for 
the  advantage  of  your  daughter  than  they  have,  seeing  that 
violence  -was  offered  her ; so  far,  as  he  is  concerned,  it  is  most 
lucky, — such  a person,  of  such  disposition  and  feelings,  a 
member  of  so  respectable  a family. 

Sos.  It  is  indeed  as  you  say ; I entreat  the  Gods  that  he 
may  be  preserved  to  us.  (They  stand  apaif  on  seeing  Geta.) 

Scene  II. 

Enter  Geta,  on  the  other  side  of  the  stage. 

Geta  (to  himself.)  Now  such  is  our  condition,  that  if  all 
were  to  combine  all  their  counsels,  and  to  seek  a remedy  for 
this  mischief  that  has  befallen  myself,  my  mistress,  and  her 
daughter,  they  could  find  no  relief.  Oh  wretched  me ! so 
many  calamities  beset  us^on  a sudden,  we  can  not  possibly 


21C 


ADELPHI; 


[Act  III. 


extricate  ourselves.  Violence,  poverty,  oppression,  desertion, 
infamy!  What  an  age  is  this ! O shocking  Yi\\2ax\y\  O ac- 
cursed race  ! O^impious  man ! 

80s.  Unhappy  me  I How  is  it  that  I see  Geta  hurrying 
along  thus  terrified  ? 

Geta  {continuing.)  Whom  neither  promises,  nor  oaths,  nor 
compassion  could  move  or  soften;  nor  yet  the  fact  that  the 
delivery  was  nigh  at  hand  of  the  unfortunate  woman  on  whom 
he  had  so  shamefully  committed  violence. 

Sos.  {apart  to  Cantiiara.)  I don’t  well  understand  what 
he  is  talking  about. 

Can.  Pray,  let  us  go  nearer  to  him,  Sostrata. 

Geta  (continuing.)  Ah  wretched  me!  I am  scarcely  mas- 
ter of  my  senses,  I am  so  inflamed  with  anger.  'There  is 
nothing  that  I would  like  better  than  for  all  that  family  to 
be  thrown  in  my  way,  that  I miglrr  give  vent  to  all  my 
wrath  upon  them  while  this  wound  is  still  fresh.  1 could 
be  content  with  any  punishment,  so  I might  only  wreak  my 
vengeance  on  them.  First,  I would  stop  the  breath  of  the 
old  fellow  himself  who  gave  being  to  this  monster ; then  as 
for  his  prompter,  Syrus,  out  upon  him ! how  I would  tear  him 
piecemeal ! I would  snatch  him  by  the  middle  up  aloft,  and 
dash  him  head  downward  upon  the  earth,  so  that  with  his 
brains  he  would  bestrew  the  road : I would  pull  out  the  eyes 
of  the  young  fellow  himself,  and  afterward  hurl  him  headlong 
over  some  precipice.  The  others  I would  rush  upon,  drive, 
drag,  crush,  and  trample  them  under  foot.  But  why  do  I 
delay  at  once  to  acquaint  my  mistress  with  this  calamity'? 
(Moves  as  if  going.) 

Sos.  (to  Canthara.)  Let  us  call  him  back.  Geta 

Geta.  Well — leave  me  alone,  ^ whoever  you  are. 

Sos.  ’Tis  I, — Sostrata. 

Geta  (turning  round.)  Why,  where  are  youl  You  are 
the  very  person  I am  looking  for.  I was  in  quest  of  you; 
it’s  very  fortunate  you  have  met  me. 

Sos.  What’s  the  matter '?  Why  are  you  trembling  ? 

^ Leave  me  alone) — Ver.  321.  Quoting  from  Madame  Dacier,  Colman 
has  this  remark  here:  “Geta’s  reply  is  founded  on  a frolicsome  but 
ill-natured  custom  which  prevailed  in  Greece — to  stop  the  slaves  in  the 
streets,  and  designedly  keep  them  in  chat,  so  that  they  might  be  lashed 
when  they  came  hom.e  for  staying  out  so  long.'* 


ISc.  II.] 


THE  BUOTIIEUJS. 


217 


Geta.  Alas!  alas! 

Sos.  My  deai^  Geta,  why  in  such  haste  ? Do  take  breath. 

Geta.  Quite (pauses.) 

Sos.  Wliy,  what  means  this  quite”  '? 

Geta.  Undone — It’s  all  over  with  us. 

Sos.  Say,  then,  I entreat  you,  what  is  the  matter. 

Geta.  Now 

Sos.  What  “ now,”  Geta  ? 

Geta.  ^schinus 

Sos.  What  about  him  ? 

Geta.  Has  abandoned  our  family. 

Sos.  Then  I am  undone  ! Why  so  ? 

Geta.  He  has  attached  himself  to  another  woman. 

Sos.  Woe  unto  wretched  me  ! 

Geta.  And  he  makes  no  secret  of  it ; he  himself  has  car- 
ried her  off  openly  from  a procurer. 

Sos.  Are  you  quite  sure  of  tins'? 

Geta.  Quite  sure  ; I saw  it  myself,  Sostrata,  with  these 
same  eyes. 

Sos.  Ah  wretched  me  I What  is  one  now  to  believe,  or 
whom  believe?  Our  own  ^schinus,  the  verij  life  of  us  all.  in 
whom  all  our  hopes  and  comforts  were  centred  I Who  used 
to  swear  he  could  never  live  a single  day  without  her!  Who 
used  to  say,  that  he  would  place  the  infant  on  his  father’s 
knees,^  and  thus  entreat  that  he  might  be  allowed  to  make 
her  his  wife ! 

Geta.  Dear  mistress,  forbear  weeping,  and  rather  consider 
what  must  be  done  for  the  future  in  this  matter.  Shall  we 
submit  to  it,  or  shall  we  tell  it  to  any  person  ? 

Can.  Pooh,  pooh ! are  you  in  your  senses,  my  good  man  ? 
Does  this  seem  to  you  a business  to  be  made  known  to  any 
one? 

Geta.  I,  indeed,  have  no  wish  for  it.  In  tlie  first  place, 
then,  that  his  feelings  are  estranged  from  us,  the  thing  itself 
declares,.  Now,  if  w6  make  this  known,  he’ll  deny  it,  I’m 
quite  sure ; your  reputation  and  your  daughter’s  character 
will  then  be  in  danger.  On  the  other  hand,  if  he  were  fully 
to  confess  it,  as  he  is  in  love  with  another  woman,  it  vvou Id 

^ On  his  father's  knees) — Ver.  333.  It  was  a prevalent  custom  with 
the  Greeks  to  place  <-he  newly-born  child  upon  the  knee  of  its  grand- 
^ father. 


K 


ADELPHI ; 


218 


[Act  hi. 


not  be  to  her  advantage  to  be  given  to  him.  Therefore,  un- 
der either  circumstance,  there  is  need  of  silence. 

Sos.  Oh!  by  no  means  in  the  world!  Til  not  do  it. 

Geta.  What  is  it  you  say  ? 

Sos.  I’ll  make  it  known. 

Geta.  Ha,  my  dear'  Sostrata,  take  care  what  you  do ! 

Sos.  The  matter  can  not  possibly  be  in  a worse  position 
than  it  is  at  present.  In  the  first  place,  she  has  no  portion ; 
then,  besides,  that  which  was  as  good  as  a portion,  her  honor^ 
is  lost : she  can  not  be  given  rn  marriage  as  a virgin.  This 
resour'ce  is  left ; if  he  should  deny  it,  I have  a ring  which  ho 
lost  as  evidence  of  the  truth.  In  fine,  Geta,  as  I am  fully  con- 
scious that  no  blame  attaches  to  me,  and  that  neither  interest 
nor  any  consideration  unworthy  of  her  or  of  myself  has  had  a 
share  in  this  matter,  I will  make  trial 

Geta.  What  am  I to  say  to  this  ? I agree,  as  you  speak 
for  the  best. 

Sos.  You  be  off  as  fast  as  possible,  and  relate  all  the  mat- 
ter just  as  it  has  happened  to  her  kinsman  Hegio ; for  he  was 
the  best  friend  of  our  lamented  Simulus,  and  has  shown  espe- 
cial regard  for  us. 

Geta  {aside.)  Aye,  faith,  because  nobody  else  takes  any 
notice  of  us, 

Sos.  Do  you,  my  dear  Canthara,  run  with  all  haste,  and 
fetch  the  midwife,  so  that,  when  slie  is  wanted,  we  may  not 
have  to  wait  for  her.  (Sostrata  into  the  house,  and  exit 
Geta  and  Canthara.) 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Demea. 

Deivi.  {to  himself)  Utterly  undone  I I hear  that  Ctesipho 
was  with  AEschinus  at  the  carrying  off  p/  this  gird.  This  sor- 
row still  remains  for  unhappy  me,  should  jEschinus  hQ  able  ^ 
to  seduce  him,  even  him,  who  promises  so  fair,  to  a course  j 
of  debauchery.  Where  am  I to  inquire  for  him?  I doubt 
he  has  been  carried  off  to  some  bad  house ; that  profligate 
has  persuaded  him.  I’m  quile  sure.  But  look — I see  Syrus 
coming  this  way,  I shall  now  know  from  him  where  he  is.  ’ 
But,  i ’faith,  he  is  one  of  the  gang ; if  he  perceives  that  I 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


219 


am  looking  for  him,  the  rascal  will  never  tell  me.  ITl  not 
let  him  know  what  I want. 

Scene  IY., 

Enter  Syrus,  at  the  other  side  of  the  stage, 

Syk.  {to  himself)  We  just  now  told  the  old  gentleman  the 
whole  affair  just  as  it  happened;  I never  did  see  any  one 
more  delighted. 

Dem.  {apart)  O Jupiter ! the  folly  of  the  man ! 

Syr.  {continuing,)  He  commended  his  son.  To  me,  who 
put  them  upon  this  project,  he  gave  thanks 

Dp:m.  {apart.)  I shall  burst  asunder. 

Syr.  {continuing^  He  told  down  the  money  instantly,  and 
gave  me  half  a mina  besides  to  spend.  That  was  laid  out 
quite  to  my  liking. 

Dem.  {apart)  Very  fine — if  you  would  wish  a thing  to  be 
nicely  managed^  intrust  it  to  this  fellow, 

Syr.  {overhearing  him,)  Ha,  Demea!  I didn’t  see  you  ; how 
goes  it  ? 

Dem.  How  should  it  go  ? I can  not  enough  wonder  at 
your  mode  of  living  here,^ 

Syr.  Why,  really  silly  enough,  and,  to  speak  without  dis- 
guise, altogether  absurd.  {Calls  at  the  door  o/Micio’s  house.) 
Dromo,  clean  the  rest 'of  the  fish;  let  the  largest  conger-eel 
play  a little  in  the  water;  when  I come  hack  it  shall  be 
boned  not  before. 

^ Dem.  Is  profligacy  like  this 

Syr.  As  for  myself,  it  isn’t  to  my  taste,  and  I often  exclaim 
.against  it,  {Calls  at  the  door.)  Stephanie,  take  care  that  the 
salt  fish  is  well  soaked. 

Dem.  Ye  Gods,  by  our  trust  in  you ! is  he  doing  this  for 
any  purpose  of  his  own,  or  does  he  think  it  creditable  to  ruin 
his  son  ? Wretch  that  I am ! methinks  I already  see  the  day 
when  jEschinus  will  be  running  away  for  want,  to  serve  some- 
where or  other  as  a soldier. ^ 

^ It  shall  he  honed) — Ver.  378.  The  operation  of  boning  conger-eels  is 
often  mentioned  in  Plautus,  from  whom  we  learn  that  they  were  best 
when  eaten  in  that  state,  and  cold. 

“ Serve  somewhere  or  other  as  a soldier) — Ver.  385-  See  a similar  pas- 
sage in  the  Trinummus  of  Plautus,  1.  722,  whence  it  appears  that  it 


220 


ADELPHI; 


[Act  III. 


Syk.  O Demea!  that  is  wisdom  indeed, — not  only  to  look 
at  the  present  moment,  but  also  to  look  forward  to  what  s to 
come. 

Dem.  Well— is  this  Music-girl  still  with  you  ? 

Syr.  Why,  yes,  she’s  in-doors. 

Dem.  How  now— is  he  going  to  keep  her  at  home'? 

Syr.  I believe  so  ; such  is  his  madness ! 

Dem.  Is  it  possible  1 ^ ... 

Syr.  An  imprudent  lenity  in  his  father,  and  a vicious  in- 

iulgence. 

‘ Dem.  Really,  I am  ashamed  and  grieved  at  my  brother. 

Syr.  Demea  1 between  you  there  is  a great — I do  not  say 
it  because  you  are  here  present — a too  great  difference. 
You  are,  every  bit  of  you,  nothing  but  wisdom  ; he  a mere 
dreamer.  Would  you  indeed  have  suffered  that  son  of  yours 
to  act  thus? 

‘ Dem.  I,  suffer  him?  Would  I not  have  smelt  it  out  six 
months  before  he  attempted  it  ? - 

Syr.  Need  I be  told  by  ) ou  of  your  foresight  ? 

Dem.  I pray  he  may  only  continue  the  same  he  is  at  pres- 

ent ! . , 1 ^ 

Syr.  Just  as  each  person  vrishes^his  son  to  be,  so  he  turns 

out. 

Dem.  What  news  of  him  ? Have  you  seen  him  to-day  ? 
Syr.  AVhat,  your  son  ? {Aside,)  I’ll  pack  him  off  into  the 
country.  {To  Demea.)  I fancy  he’s  busy  at  the  farm  long  be- 
fore this. 

Dem.  Are  you  quite  sure  he  is  there  ? 

Syr.  What ! — when  I saw  him  part  of  the  way  myself 

Dem.  Yery  good.  I was  afraid  he  might  be  loitering  here. 
Syr.  And  extremely  angry  too. 

Dem.  Why  so  ? 

Syr.  He  attacked  his  brother  in  the  Forum  with  strong 
language  about  this  Music-girl. 

Dem.  Do  you  really  say  so  ? 

Syr.  Oh  dear,  he  didn’t  at  all  mince  the  matter ; for  just 


was  the  practice  for  young  men  of  ruined  fortunes  to  go  and  offer  their 
services  as  mercenaries  to  some  of  the  neighboring 
of  the  ten  thousand  who  fought  for  tne  younger  Cyrus  at  the  battle  ot 
Cunaxa,  and  were  led  back  under  the  command  of  Xenophon,  weie, 
doubtless,  of  this  class. 


I 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


221 


as  the  money  was  being  counted  out,  the  gentleman  came 
upon  us  by  chance,  and  began  exclaiming,  Oh  Hi^schinus, 
that  you  should  perpetrate  these  enormities!  that  you  should 
be  guilty  of  actions  so  disgraceful  to  our  family!” 

Dem.  Oh,  I shall  weep  for  joy. 

Syr.  By  this  you  are  not  squandering  your  money  only, 
but  your  reputation.” 

Dem.  May  he  be  preserved  to  me ! I trust  he  will  be  like 
his  forefathers.  {Weeping.) 

Syr.  {aside.)  Heyday! 

Dem.  Syrus,  he  is  full  of  these  maxims. 

Syr.  {aside.)  Strange,  indeed  ! He  had  the  means  at  home 
of  learning  them. 

Dem.  I do  every  thing  I can ; I spare  no  pains ; I train 
him  up  to  it : in  line,  I bid  him  look  into  the  lives  of  men,  as 
though  into  a mirror,  and  from  others  to  take  an  example 
for  himself.  Do  this,  I say 

Syr.  Quite  right. 

Dem.  Avoid  that 

Sy^r.  Very  shrewd. 

Dem.  This  is  praiseworthy-^ 

Syr.  That’s  the  thing. 

Dem.  That  is  considered  blamable 

Syr.  Extremely  good. 

Dem.  And  then,  moreover 

Syr.  Upon  my  honor,  I have  not  the  leisure  to  listen  to 
you  just  at  present:  I have  got  some  fish  just  to  my  taste, 
and  must  take  care  they  are  not  spoiled;  for  that  would  be 
as  much  a crime  in  me,  as  for  you,  Demea,  not  to  observe 
those  maxims  which  you  have  just  been  mentioning;  and  so 
fiir  as  I can,  I lay  down  precepts  for  my  fellow-servants  on 
the  very  same  plan ; this  is  too  salt,  that  is  quite  burned  up, 
this  is  not  washed  enough,  that  is  very  well  done ; remember 
.and  do  so  another  time.”  I carefully  instruct  them  so  far  as 
1 can  to  the  best  of  my  capacity.  In  short,  Demea,  I bid 
them  look  into  their  sauce-pans  as  though  into  a mirror,^  and 
suggest  to  them  what  they  ought  ^o  do.  I am  sensible  these 
things  are  trifling  which  we  do ; but  what  is  one  to  do  ? Ac- 

^ ds  though  into  a mirror) — Ver.  428.  He  parodies  the  words  of 
Demea  in  1.  415,  where  he  speaks  of  looking  into  the  lives  of  men  as 
into  a mirror. 


ADELPHI ; 


222 


[Act  III. 


cording  as  the  man  is,  so  must  you  humor  him.  Do  you  wish 
any  thing  else  ? 

Dem.  That  more  wisdom  may  be  granted  you. 

Syr.  You  will  be  going  off  into  the  country,  I sup- 

pose  ? 

Dem.  Directly. 

Syr.  For  what  should  you  do  here,  where,  if  you  do  give 
any  good  precepts,  no  one  will  regard  them?  [Goes  into 
Mioio’s  house.) 


Scene  Y. 

Demea,  alone. 

Dem.  [to  himself.)  I certainly  will  be  off,  as  lie  on  whose 
account  I came  hither  has  gone  into  the  country.  I have«v 
a care  for  himj^  that  alone  is  my  own  concern,  since  my  ^ 
brother  will  have* it  so;  let  him  look  to  the  other  himself.  > 
But  who  is  it  I see-yxmder  at  a distance?  Isn’t  it  Hegio  of  - 
our  tribe  ?^  If  I see  right,  i’  faith,  it  is  he.  Ah,  a man  I 
have  been  friendly  with  from  a child ! Good  Gods ! we  cer- 
tainly have  a great  dearth  of  citizens  of  that  stamp  nowa- 
days, with  the  old-fashioned  virtue  and  honesty.  Not  in  a 
hurry  will  any  misfortune  accrue  to  the  public  from  him. 
How  glad  I am  to  find  some  remnants  of  this  race  even  still 
remaining;  now  I feel  some  pleasure  in  living.  I’ll  wait  here 
for  him,  to  ask  him  how  he  is,  and  have  some  conversation 
with  him. 


Scene  YI. 

Enter  Hegio  and  Geta,  conversing,  at  a distance, 

Heg.  Oh  immortal  Gods!  a disgraceful  action,  Geta! 
AVhat  is  it  you  tell  me  ? 

Geta.  Such  is  the  fact. 

^ Of  our  tribe) — Yer.  439.  Solon  divided  the  Athenians  into  ten 
tribes,  which  he  named  after  ten  of  the  ancient  heroes:  Erectheis, 
jEgeis,  Pandionis,  Leontis,  Acamantis,  CEneis,  Cecrops,  Hippothoontis, 
Mantis,  and  Antiochis.  These  tribes  were  each  divided  into  ten 
Demi. 


A 


Sc.  VI.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


223 


Heg.  Tliat  so  ignoble  a deed  should  come  from  that  family ! 
Oh  ^schinus,  assuredly  you  haven’t  taken  after  your  father 
in  that ! 

Dem.  (apart.)  Why  surely,  he  has  heard  this  about  the 
Music-girl ; that  gives  him  concern,  though  a stranger ; this 
father  of  his  thinks  nothing  of  it.  Ah  me ! I wish  he  were 
somewhere  close  at  hand  to  overhear  this. 

Heg.  Unless  they  do  as  they  ought  to  do,  they  shall  not 
come  off  so  easily. 

Geta.  All  our  hopes,  Hegio,  are  centred  in  you ; you  we 
have  for  our  only  fi'iend ; you  are  our  protector,  our  father. 
The  old  man,  Simulus,  when  dying,  recommended  us  to  you ; 
if  you  forsake  us,  we  are  undone. 

Heg.  Beware  how  you  mention  that;  I neither  will  do  it, 
nor  do  I think  that,  with  due  regard  to  the  ties  of  relation- 
^ship,  I could. 

p,  Dem.  (apart)  I’ll  accost  him.  Hegio.)  Plegio, 

..  I bid  you  welcome  right  heartily. 

Heg.  (starting.)  Oh ! you  are  the  very  man  I was  looking 
for.  Greetings  to  you,  Demea. 

Dem.  Why,  what’s  the  matter? 

Heg.  Your  eldest  son  -dEschinus,  whom  you  gave  to  your 
brother  to  adopt,  has  been  acting  the  part  of  neither  an  hon- 
est man  nor  a gentleman. 

Dem.  What  has  he  been  doing  ? 

Heg.  You  knew  my  friend  and  year’s-mate,  Simulus? 

Dem.  Why  not  ? 

Heg.  He  has  debauched  his  daughter,  a virgin. 

Dem.  Hah ! 

Heg.  Stay,  Demea.  You  have  not  yet  heard  the  worst. 

Dem.  Is  there  any  thing  still  worse  ? 

Heg.  Worse,  by  far : for  this  indeed  might  in  some  meas- 
ure have  been  borne  with.  The  hour  of  night  prompted 
him  ; passion,  wine,  young  blood  ; ’tis  human  nature.  When 
he  was  sensible  of  what  he  had  done,  he  came  voluntarily 
to  the  girl’s  mother,  weeping,  praying,  entreating,  pledging 
his  honor,  vowing  that  he  would  take  her  home.^  The  affair 
was  pardoned,  hushed  up,  his  word  taken.  The  girl  from 
that  intercourse  became  pregnant:*  this  is  the  tenth  month. 

‘ Would  take  her  home) — Ver.  473.  As  his  wife. 


221 


ADELriIl; 


[Act  hi. 


)rtliy  fellow,  has  provided  himself,  if  it  please  the  Gods, 


^^th  a Music-girl  to  live  with ; the  other  he  has  cast  off. 


Do  you  say  this  for  certain  ? 

I^G.  The  mother  of  the  young  woman  is  among  us,^  the 
y^^ig  woman  too ; the  fact  speaks  for  itself ; this  Geta,  be- 
sides, according  to  the  common  run  of  servants,  not  a bad 
one  or  of  idle  habits  ; he  supports  them ; alone,  maintains  the 
whole  family ; take  him,  bind  him,^  examine  him  upon  the 
matter. 

Geta.  Aye,  faith,  put  me  to  the  torture,  Demea,  if  such  is 
not  the  fact : besides,  he  will  not  deny  it.  Confront  me  with 
him. 

Dem.  (aside,)  I am  ashamed ; and  what  to  do,  or  how  to 
answer  him,  I don’t  know. 

Pam.  (c7ping  out  ivitkin  the  house  of  Ah  me  I I 

am  racked  with  pains!  Juno  Lucina,^  bring  aid,  save  me,  I 
beseech  thee  1 

Heg.  Hold;  is  she  in  labor,  pray? 

Geta.  No  doubt  of  it,  Hegio. 

Heg.  Ah  1 she  is  now  imploring  your  protection,  Demea ; 
let  her  obtain  from  you  spontan'eously  what  the  power  of  the 
laiv  compels  you  to  give.  I do  entreat  the  Gods  that  what 
befits  you  may  at  once  be  done.  But  if  your  sentiments  are 
otherwise,  Demea,  I will  defend  both  them  and  him  who  is 
dead  to  the  utmost  of  my  power.  He  was  my  kinsman  P wo 
were  brought  up  together  from  children,  we  were  companions 
in  the  wars  and  at  home,  together  we  experienced  the  hard- 
ships of  poverty.  I will  therefore  exert  myself,  strive,  use  all 
methods,  in  fine  lay  down  .my  life,  rather  than  forsake  these 
women.  What  answer  do  you  give  me  ? 

Dem.  I’ll  go  find  my  brother,  Hegio : the  advice  he  gives 
me  upon  this  matter  I’ll  follow.*^ 

^ Is  among  us) — Ycr.  470.  “In  medio,”  “is  alive,”  or  “in  the  midst 


2 Take  him,  hind  him) — Ver.  482.  In  allusion  to  the  method  cf  ex- 
amining slaves,  by  binding  and  torturing  them. 

^ Juno  Lucina) — Yer.  487.  8o  in  the  Andria,  1.  473,  where  Glycerium 
is  overtaken  with  the  pains  of  labor,  she  calls  upon  Juno  Lucina. 

^ i/e  was  my  kinsman) — Yer.  494.  In  the  Play  of  Menander,  Hegio 
was  the  brother  of  Sostrata. 

^ Upon  this  matter  Til  follow) — Yer.  500.  “Is,  quod  mihi  do  hac  re 
dederat  consilium,  id  sequar.”  Colman  has  the  Tfilowing  Note  on 


Sc.  VII.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


225 


Heg.  But,  Demea,  take  you  care  and  reflect  upon  this  : 
tile  more  easy  you  are  in  your  circumstances,  the  more 
powerful,  wealthy,  affluent,  and  noble  you  are,  so  much  the 
more  ought  you  with  equanimity  to  observe  the  dictates  of 
justice,  if  you  would  have  yourselves  esteemed  as  men  of 
probity. 

Dem.  Go  back  now  every  thing  shall  be  done  that  is 
proper  to  be  done. 

Heg.  It  becomes  you  to  act  thus.  Geta,  show  me  in  to 
Sostrata.  {Follows  Geta  into  Sostrata’s  house.) 

Dem.  (to  himself.)  Not  without  warning  on  my  part  have, 
these  things  happened : I only  wish  it  may  end  here ; but  this 
immoderate  indulgence  will  undoubtedly  lead  to  some  great 
misfortune.  I’ll  go  find  my  brother,  and  vent  these  feelings 
upon  him.  {Exit. 

Scene  YII. 

Enter  Hegio,  from  Sostrata’s  house^  and  speaking  to  her 
within. 

Heg.  Be  of  good  heart,^  Sostrata,  and  take  care  and  con- 
sole her  as  far  as  you  can.  I’ll  go  find  Micio,  if  he  is  at  the 
Forum,  and  acquaint  him  with  the  whole  circumstances  in 
their  order;  if  so  it  is  that  he  will  do  his  duty  hy  you,  let  him 
do  so ; but  if  his  sentiments  are  otherwise  about  this  matter, 
let  him  give  me  his  answer,  that  I may  know  at  once  what  I 
am  to  do.  {Exit. 

this  passage  : ‘‘  Madame  Dacier  rejects  this  line,  because  it  is  also  to  be 
found  in  the  Phormio.  But  it  is  no  uncommon  thing  with  our  author 
to  use  the  same  expression  or  verse  for  different  places,  especially  on 
familiar  occasions.  There  is  no  impropriety  in  it  here,  and  the  fore- 
going hemistich  is  rather  lame  without  it.  The  propriety  of  consulting 
Micio,  or  Demea’s  present  ill-humor  with  him,  are  of  no  consequence. 
The  old  man  is  surprised  at  Hegio’s  story,  does  not  know  what  to  do  or 
say,  and  means  to  evade  giving  a positive  answer,  by  saying  that  ho 
would  consult  his  brother.” 

^ Go  hack  noiv) — Ver.  506.  “ Redite.”  Demea  most  probably  uses 
this  word,  because  Hegio  has  come  back  to  him  to  repeat  the  last  words 
for  the  sake  of  greater  emphasis. 

^ Be  of  good  heart) — Ver.  512.  Colmanhas  the  following  Note  here: 
“ Donatus  tells  us,  that  in  some  old  copies  this  whole  Scene  was  want- 
ing. Guyetus  therefore  entirely  rejects  it.  I have  not  ventured  to  take 
that  liberty ; but  must  confess  that  it  appears  to  me,  if  not  supposititious, 

K 2 


226 


ADELPHI ; 


[Act  IV. 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 

Scene  I. 

Eater  Ctesipiio  and  Syrus  from  the  house  of  Micio. 

Ctes.  My  father  gone  into  the  country,  say  you  ? 

Syr.  {with  a careless  air,)  Some  time  since, 

Ctes.  Do  tell  me,  I beseech  you. 

Syr.  Pie  is  at  the  farm  at  this  very  moment,^  I warrant — 
hard  at  some  work  or  other. 

Ctes.  I really  wish,  provided  it  be  done  with  no  prejudice 
to  his  health,  I wish  that  he  may  so  effectually  tire  himself, 
that,  for  the  next  three  days  together,  he  may  be  unable  to 
arise  from  his  bed. 

Syr.  So  be  it,  and  any  thing  still  better  than  that,^  if  pos- 
sible. 

Ctes.  Just  so;  for  I do  most  confoundedly  wish  to  pass 
this  whole  day  in  merry-making  as  I have  begun  it ; and  for 
no  reason  do  I detest  that  farm  so  heartily  as  for  its  being  so 
near  toion.  If  it  were  at  a greater  distance,  night  would  over- 
take him  there  before  he  could  return  hither  again.  Now, 
when  he  doesn’t  find  me  there,  he’ll  come  running  back  here, 
I’m  quite  sure;  he’ll  be  asking  me  where  I have  been,  that  I 
have  not  seen  him  all  this  day : what  am  I to  say  ? 

Syr.  Does  nothing  suggest  itself  to  your  mind  % 

Ctes.  Nothing  whatever. 

vSyr.  So  much  the  worse^ — have  you  no  client,  friend,  or 
guest  ? 

at  least  cold  and  superfluous,  and  the  substance  of  it  had  better  been 
supposed  to  have  passed  between  Hegio  and  Sostrata  within.” 

* At  this  very  moment) — Yer.  519.  It  is  very  doubtful  whether  the 
words  “ cum  maxime”  mean  to  signify  exactly  “at  this  moment,”  or 
are  intended  to  signify  the  intensity  with  which  Demea  is  laboring. 

2 Any  thing  stilt  better  than  that) — Ver.  522.  Lemaire  suggests  that 
by  these  words  Syrus  intends  to  imply  that  he  should  not  care  if  Demea 
were  never  to  arise  from  his  bed,  but  were  to  die  there.  Ctesipho, 
only  taking  him  heartily  to  second  his  own  wishes  for  the  old  man’s 
absence,  answers  affirmatively  “ita,”  “by  all  means,”  “exactly  so.” 

^ So  much  the  worse) — Yer.  529.  Schmieder  observes  tliat  “ tan  to 


Sc.  I.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


227 


Ctes.  I have ; what  then  ? 

Syr.  You  liave  been  engaged  with  them. 

Ctes.  When  I have  not  been  engaged?  That  can  never 
do. 

Syr.  It  may. 

Ctes.  During  the  daytime ; but  if  I pass  the  night  here, 
what  excuse  can  I make,  Syrus? 

Syr.  Dear  me,  how  much  I do  wish  it  was  the  custom  for 
one  to  be  engaged  with  friends  at  night  as  well ! But  you  be 
easy;  I know  his  humor  perfectly  well.  When  he  raves  the 
most  violently,  1 can  make  him  as  gentle  as  a lamb. 

Ctes.  In  what  way? 

Syr.  He  loves  to  hear  you  praised : I make  a god  of  you 
to  him,  and  recount  your  virtues. 

Ctes.  What,  mine? 

Syr.  Yours ; Immediately  the  tears  fall  from  him  as  from  a 
child,  for  joy.  (Starting,)  Hah!  take  care 

Ctes.  Why,  what’s  the  matter? 

Syr.  The  wolf  in  the  fable^ 

Ctes.  What ! my  father  ? 

Syr.  His  own  self. 

Ctes.  What  shall  we  do,  Syrus  ? 

Syr.  You  only  be  off  in-doors.  I’ll  see  to  that. 


nequior”  might  have  two  meanings, — ‘ ‘ so  much  the  worse  for  us,  ” or, 
as  the  spectators  might  understand  it,  ‘‘so  much  the  more  worthless 
you.” 

^ The  wolf  in  the  fable) — Ver.  538.  This  was  a proverbial  expression, 
tantamount  to  our  saying,  “Talk  of  the  devil,  he’s  sure  to  appear.” 
Servius,  in  his  Commentary  on  the  Ninth  Eclogue  of  Virgil,  says  that 
the  saying  arose  from  the  common  belief  that  the  person  whom  a 
wolf  sets  his  eyes  upon  is  deprived  of  his  voice,  and  thence  came  to 
be  applied  to  a person  who,  coming  upon  others  in  the  act  of  talking 
about  him,  necessarily  put  a stop  to  their  conversation.  Cooke  says,  in 
reference  to  this  passage,  “ This  certainly  alludes  to  a Fable  of  ^sop’s, 
of  the  Wolf,  the  Fox,  and  the  Ape : which  is  translated  by  Phsedrus, 
and  is  the  tenth  of  his  First  Book.”  It  is  much  more  certain  that 
Cooke  is  mistaken  here,  and  that  the  fable  of  the  arbitration  of  the 
Ape  between  the  Wolf  and  the  Fox  has  nothing  to  do  with  this  passage. 
If  it  alludes  to  any  fable  (which  from  the  expression  itself  is  not  at  all 
unlikely),  it  is  more  likely  to  be  that  where  the  Nurse  threatens  that 
the  wolf  shall  take  the  naughty  Child,  on  which  he  makes  his  appear- 
ance, but  is  disappointed  in  his  expectations,  or  else  that  of  the  Shep- 
herd-boy and  the  Wolf.  See  the  Stichus  of  Plautus,  1.  57,  where  the 
snme  expression  occurs. 


228 


A DELPHI ; 


[Act  IV. 


Ctes.  If  lie  makes  any  inquiries,  you  have  seen  me  no- 
where ; do  you  hear  ? 

Syr.  Can  you  not  be  quiet?  (They  retreat  to  the  door  of 
AIicio’s  house ^ and  Ctesipho  stands  in  the  doorway,) 


Scene  II. 

Enter  Demea,  on  the  other  side  of  the  stage. 

Dem.  (to  himself.)  I certainly  am  an  unfortunate  man.  In 
the  first  place,  I can  find  my  brother  nowhere ; and  then,  in 
the  next  place,  while  looking  for  him,  I met  a day-laborer^ 
from  the  farm ; he  says  that  my  son  is  not  in  the  country, 
and  what  to  do  I know  not 

Ctes.  (apart.)  Syrus ! 

Syr.  (apart.)  What’s  the  matter? 

Ctes.  (apart.)  Is  he  looking  for  me? 

Syr.  (apaiT)  Yes. 

Ctes.  (apart.)  Undone! 

Syr.  (apart.)  Nay,  do  be  of  good  heart. 

Dem.  (to  himself.)  Plague  on  it ! what  ill  luck,  is  this  ? I 
can  not  really  account  for  .it,  unless  I suppose  myself  only  born 
for  the  purpose  of  enduring  misery.  I am^the  first  to  feel  our 
misfortunes ; the  first  to  know  of  them  all ; then  the  first  to 
carry  the  neAvs ; I am  the  only  one,  if  any  thing  does  go 
wrong,  to  take  it  to  heart. 

Syr.  (apart.)  I’m  amused  at  him ; he  says  that  he  is  the 
first  to  know  of  every  tiling^  while  he  is  the  only  one  ignorant 
of  every  thing.  . 

Dem.  (to  himself.)  I’ve  now  come  back ; and  I’ll  go  see 
Avhether  perchance  my  brother  has  yet  returned. 

Ctes.  (apart.)  Syrus,  pray  do  take  care  that  he  doesn’t  sud- 
denly rush  in  upon  us  here. 

Syr.  (aparT)  Now  Avill  you  hold  your  tongue?  I’ll  take 
care. 

Ctes.  (apart.)  Never  this  day  will  I depend  on  your 
management  for  that,  upon  my  faith ; for  I’ll  shut  myself  up 

^ Met  a day-hhorer) — Ver.  542.  Donatus  remarks  that  the  Poet  art- 
fully contrives  to  detain  Demea  in  town,  his  presence  beinjr  necessary 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  P!ay. 


i 


S(<.  IL] 


'rilK  BUOTHEKS. 


229 


with  her  in  some  cupboarcE — that’s  the  safest.  {Goes  into  the 
house. ) 

Syk.  (apart.)  Do  so,  still  I’ll  ^et  rid  of  him. 

Dem.  (seeing  Syrus.)  But  see ! there's  that  rascal,  Syrus. 

Syr.  (aloud j pretending  not  to  see  Dp:mea.)  Really,  upon  iny 
faith,  no  person  can  stay  here,  if  this  is  to  be  the  case ! For 
my  part,  I should  like  to  know  how  many  masters  I have — 
what  a cursed  condition  this  is ! 

De3I.  What’s  he  whining  about?  Wiiat  does  ho  mean.? 
How  say  you,  good  sir,  is  my  brother  at  home? 

Syr.  What  the  plague  do  you  talk  to  me  about,  ^^good 
sir”?  I’m  quite  distracted  ! 

De.u.  What’s  the  matter  with  you  ? * 

Syr.  Do  you  ask  the  question  ? Ctesipho  has  been  beating 
me,  poor  wretch,  and  that  Music-girl,  almost  to  death. 

Dem.  Ha!  what  is  it  you  tell  me? 

Syr.  Aye,  see  how  he  has  cut  my  lip.  (Pretends  to  point 
to  it.) 

Dem.  For  what  reason  ? 

Syr.  He  says  that  she  was  bought  by  my  advice. 

Dem.  Did  not  you  tell  me,  a short  time  since,  that  you  had 
seen  him  on  his  way  into  the  country? 

Syr.  I did ; but  he  afterward  came  back,  raving  like  a mad- 
man ; he  spared  nobody — ought  he  not  to  have  been  ashamed 
to  beat  an  old  man?  Him  whom,  only  the  other  day,  I used 
to  carry  about  in  my  arms  when  thus  high?  (Showing.) 

Dem.  I commend  him ; O Ctesipho,  you  take  after  your 
father.  Well,  I do  pronounce  you  a man. 

Syr.  Commend  him?  Assuredly  he  will  keep  his  hands 
to  himself  in  future,  if  he’s  wise. 

Dem.  ^Twas  done  with  spirit. 

Syr.  Very  much  so,  to  be  beating  a poor  woman,  and  me, 
a slave,  who  didn’t  dare  strike  him  in  return ; heyday ! very 
spirited  indeed !. 

Dem.  He  could  not  have  done  better : he  thought  the  same 
as  I did.,  that  you  were  the  principal  in  this  affair.'  But  is 
my  brother  within  ? 

^ With  her  in  .^ome  cupboard)— 553.  Donatus  observes  that  the 
young  man  was  silly  in  this,  for  if  discovered  to  be  there  he  would  be 
sure  to  be  caught.  His  object,  however,  for  going  there  would  bo  that 
he  might  not  be  discovered. 


230 


ADELPHI ; 


[Act  IV. 


Syr.  He  is  not. 

Dem.  I’m  thinking  where  to  look  for  him. 

Syr.  I know  where  he  is — but  I shall  not  tell  you  at  present. 

Dem.  Pla ! what’s  that  you  say  1 
\ Syr.  I do  say  so. 

Dem.  Then  I’ll  break  your  head  for  you  this  instant. 

Syr.  I can’t  tell  the  person’s  name  he's  gone  to,  but  I know 
the  place  where  he  lives. 

Dem.  Tell  me  the  place  then. 

Syr.  Do  you  know  the  portico  down  this  way,  just  by  the 
shambles  ? {Pointing  in  the  direction?) 

Dem.  How  should  I but  know  it*? 

Syr.  Go  straight 'along,  right  up  that  street;  when  you 
come  there,  there  is  a descent  right  'opposite  that  goes  down- 
ward, go  straight  down  that ; afterward,  on  this  side  {extend- 
ing one  hand),  there  is  a chapel  .*  close  by  it  is  a narrow  lane, 
where  there’s  also  a great  wild  fig-tree. 

Dem.  I know  it. 

Syr.  Go  through  that 

Dem.  But  that  lane  is  not  a thoroughfare. 

Syr.  I'  faith,  that’s  true ; dear,  dear,,  would  you  take  me 
to  be  in  rny  senses  T I made  a mistake.  Eefurn  to  the  por- 
tico ; indeed  that  will  be  a much  nearer  way,  and  there  is 
less  going  round  about : you  know  the  house  of  Cratinus,  the 
rich  man  ? 

Dem.  I know  it. 

Syr.  When  you  have  passed  that,  keep  straight  along  that 
street  on  the  left  hand;^  when  you  come  to  the  Temple  of 
Diana,  turn  to  the  right ; before  you  come  to  the  city  gate,^ 
just  by  that  pond,  there  is  a baker’s  shop,  and  opposite  to  it 
a joiner’s  ; there  he  is. 

^ Tahe  me  to  he  in  my  senses) — Ver.  580.  “ Censen  liominem  me 
esse?”  literally,  ‘*Do  you  take  me  to  be  a human  being?”  meaning, 
“Do  you  take  me  to  be  a person  in  my  common  senses?” 

2 Street  on  the  left  hand) — Ver.  583.  Theobald,  in  his  edition  of 
Shakspeare,  observes  that  the  direction  given  by  Lancelot  in  the  Mer- 
chant of  Venice  seems  to  be  copied  from  that  given  here  by  Syrus: 
“ Turn  up  on  your  right  hand  at  the  next  turning,  but  at  the  next  turn- 
ing of  all  on  your  left ; marry,  at  the  very  next  turning  of  no  hand,  but 
turn  down  infcectly  to  the  Jew’s  house.” 

^ Come  to  the  city  gate) — Ver.  584.  From  this  we  discover  that  De- 
mea  is  being  sent  to  the  very  extremity  of  the  town,  as  Donatus  informs 


JSc.  III.] 


THE  BROTPIERS. 


231 


Dem.  Wliat  is  he  doing  there  ^ 

Syr.  He  has  given  some  couches  to  be  made,  with  oaken 
legs,  for  use  in  the  open  air.’ 

Dem.  For  you  to  carouse  upon!  Very  fine  ! But  why  do 
I delay  going  to  him  ? {Exit, 


Scene  III. 

Syrus  alone, 

Syr.  Go,  by  all  means.  I’ll  work  you  to  day,  you  skele- 
ton,^ as  you  deserve,  ^schinus  loiters  intolerably ; the  break- 
fast’s spoiling;  and  as  for^Ctesipho,  he’s  head  and  ears  in 
love.^  I shall  now  think  of  myself,  for  I’ll  be  off  at  once,  and 
pick  out  the  very  nicest  bit,  and,  leisurely  sipping  my  cups,'’^ 
i’ll  lengthen  out  the  day.  {Goes  into  the  house.) 

us  that  ponds  of  water  were  always  close  to  the  gates  of  towns,  for  the 
purpose  of  watering  the  beasts  of  burden,  and  of  having  a supply  at 
hand  in  case  the  enemy  should  set  fire  to  the  city  gates. 

^ The  open  air) — Yer.  586.  Donatus  remarks  that  it  was  usual  for 
the  Greeks  to  sit  and  drink  in  the  sun ; and  that  Syrus  being  sudden- 
ly asked  this  question  shows  his  presence  of  mind  by  giving  this  cir- 
cumstantial answer,  that  he  may  the  better  impose  upon  Demea.  The 
couches  used  on  such  occasions  may  be  presumed  to  have  required  stout 
legs,  and  to  be  made  of  hard  wood,  such  as  oak,  to  prevent  them  from 
splitting.  Two  instances  of  couches  being  used  for  carousing  in  the 
open  air  will  be  found  in  the  last  Scenes  of  the  Asinaria  and  Stichus  of 
Plautus. 

^ You  skeleton) — Yer.  588.  ‘‘  Silicernium.”  This  was  said  to  be  the 
name  of  a funeral  entertainment  or  dish  of  meats  offered  up  to  the 
“umbrffi”  or  “manes,”  in  silence.  The  word  is  also  said  to  have  been 
applied  to  an  old  man  from  his  stooping  postures,  “silices  cernit,”  “he 
looks  at  the  stones.” 

^ Head  and  ears  in  love) — Yer.  590.  “Totus,”  literally,  “quite”  or 
“ altogether.” 

^ Sipping  my  cups) — Yer.  592.  As  to  the  “ cyathi”  and  cups  of  the 
ancients,  see  the  last  Scene  of  the  Stichus  of  Plautus,  which  is  a perfect 
specimen  of  a carousal  among  the  lower  classes  in  ancient  times.  See 
also  the  last  Scene  of  the  Asinaria.  The  slaves  generally  appear  to 
have  taken  part  in  the  entertainments  with  their  young  masters. 


2:y> 


ADELPHI ; 


[Act  IV. 


Scene  IV. 

Ente}'  Micio  and  IIegio. 

Mic.  I can  see  no  reason  here,  Plegio,  that  I should  be  so 
greatly  commended.  I do  my  duty;  the  wrong  that  has 
originated  with  us  I redress.  Unless,  perhaps,  you  thought 
me  one  of  that  clas5  of  men  who  think  that  an  injury  is  pur- 
posely done  them  if  you  expostulate  about  any  thing  they 
have  done ; and  yet  are  tJmnselves  the  first  to^  accuse.  Be- 
cause I have  not  acted  thus,  do  you  return  me  thanks'? 

Heg.  Oh,  far  from  it ; I never  led  myself  to  believe  you  to 
be  otherwise  than  you  are ; but  I beg,  Micid,  that  you  will  go 
with  me  to  the  mother  of  the  young  woman,  and  repeat  to  her 
* the  same ; what  you  have*  told  me,  do^  you  yourself  tell  the 
woman,  that  this  suspicion  of  jEschinuss  fidelity  was  incurred 
on  his  brother’s  account,  and  that  this  Music-girl  v/as  for  him. 

Mic.  If  you  think  I ought,  or  if  there  is  a necessity  for  do- 
ing so,  let  us  go. 

Meg.  You  act  with  kindness;  for  you’ll  then  both  have 
relieved  her  mind  who  is  now  languishing  in  sorrow  and  af- 
fliction, and  have  discharged  your  duty.  But  if  you  think 
otherwise,  I will  tell  her  myself  what  you  have  been-  saying 
to  me. 

Mic.  Nay,  PH  go  as  well. 

Heg.  You  act  with  kindness ; all  who  are  in  distressed 
circumstances  are  suspicious,^  to  I know  not  wdiat  degree; 
they  take  every  thing  too  readily  as  an  affront;  they  fancy 
themselves  trifled  with  on  account  of  their  helpless  condition ; 
therefore  it  will  be  more  satisfactory  for  you  to  justify  him  to 
them  yourself.  {They  go  into  the  house  Sostrata.) 

Scene  Y. 

Enter  H^schinus. 

I am  quite  distracted  in  mind ! for  this  misfortune  so 
unexpectedly  to  befall  me^  that  1 neither  know  what  to  do 
with  myself,  or  how  to  act ! My  limbs  are  enfeebled  through 

^ Are  suspicious) — Ver.  GOG.  These  lines  are  supposed  to  he  founded 
on  some  verses  of  Menander  whicli  are  still  extant. 


T 


Sc.  VL] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


• pra'' 


fear,  my  faculties  bewildered  with  apprehension , 
is  able  to  find  a place  within  my  breast.  Alas 
extricate  myself  from  this  perplexity  I know  not ; 
suspicion  has  taken  possession  of  them  about  me ; 
out  some  reason  too : Sostrata  believes  that  I have 
this  Music-girl  for  myself:  the  old  woman  informed  me 
that.  For  by  accident,  when  she  was  sent  for  the  midwife, 
saw  her,  and  at  once  went  up  to  her.  “Flow  is  Pamphila?” 
1 inquired;  “is  her  delivery  at  hand?  Is  it  for  that  she  is 
sending  for  the  midwife?”  “Away,  away,  FEschinus,”  cries 
she ; “ you  have  deceived  us  long  enough ; already  have  your 
promises  disappointed  us  sufficiently.”  “ Ha  I”  said  I ; 
what  is  the  meaning  of  this?”  “Farewell,”  she  cries ; “k'^ 
to  her  who  is  your  choice.”  I instantly  guessed  what'  it 
they  suspected,  but  still  I checked  myself,  that  I migh 
be  telling  that  gossip  any  thing  about  my  brother,  where» 
might  be  divulged.  Now  what  am  I to  do?  Shall  1 say 
is  for  my  brother,  a thing  that,  ought  by  no  means  to  be 
peated  any  where?  However,  let  that  pass.  It  is  possib 
it  might  go  no  further.  I am  afraid  tliey  v/ould  not  believe 
it,  so  many  probabilities  concur  against  it:  ’twjis  I myself 
carried  her  offj  ’twas  I,  my  own  self,  that  paid  the  money  for 
her ; Twas  my  own  house  she  was  carried  to.  This  I con- 
fess has  been  entirely  my  own  fault.  Ought  I not  to  have 
disclosed  this  affair,  just  as  it  happened,  to  my  father?  I 
might  have  obtained  his  consent  to  marry  her.  I have  been 
too  negligent  hitherto^  henceforth,  then,  arouse  yourself, 
H^^schinus.  This  then  is  the  first  thing;  to  go  to  them  and 
clear  myself.  ITl  approach  the  door.  {Advances  to  the  door 
of  Sostrata’s  house.)  Confusion ! I always  tremble  most 
dreadfully  when  I go  to  knock  at  that  door.  {Knocking  and 
calling  to  them  ivithin.)  Ho  there,  ho  there!  it  is  ^schinus; 
open  the  door  immediately,  some  one.  {The  door  opens.) 
Some  person,  I know  not  who,  is  coming  out ; ITl  step  aside 
here.  {He  stands  apart.) 


Scene  VI. 

Enter  Ishcio  from  the  house  of  Sostrata. 

Mic.  {speaking  at  the  door  to  Sostrata.)  Do  as  I told  you^ 


T 


ADELPHI; 


LAct  IV. 


go  find  .idilschinus,  that  he  may  know  how  these 
ve  been  settled.  {Looking  round,)  But  who  was  it 
at  the  door? 

ju,  {apart)  Heavens,  it  is  my  father! — I am  undone! 
c.  .i^schinus! 

Escn.  {aside.)  What  can  be  his  business  here? 

Mic.  Was  it  you  knocking  at  this  door?  {Aside,)  He  is 
silent.  Why  shouldn’t  I rally  him  a little?  It  would  be  as 
well,  as  he  was  never  willing  to  trust  me  with  this  secret  {To 
..^SCHINUS.)  Don’t  you  answer  me? 

jEsch.  {confusedly!)  It  wasn’t  I knocked  at  that  door,  that 
know  of. 

ic.  Just  so ; for  I wondered  what  business  you  could 
re.  {Apart)  He  blushes ; all’s  well. 

CH.  Pray  tell  me,  father,  w'hat  business  have  you 

lie.  Why,  none  of  my  own ; hut  a certain  friend  of  mine 
now  brought  me  hither  from  the  Forum  to  give  him  some 
isistance. 

^SCH.  Why? 

Mic!  I’ll  tell  you.  There  are  some  women  living  here ; in 
impoverished  circumstances,  as  I suppose  you  don’t  know 
them ; and,  in  fact,  I’m  quite  sure,  for  it  is  not  long  since 
they  removed  to  this  place. 

-^SCH.  Well,  what  next? 

Mic.  There  is  a girl  living  with  her  mother. 

.^scii.  Go  on. 

Mic.  This  girl  has  lost  her  father ; this  friend  of  mine  is 
her  next  of  kin  ; the  law  obliges  him  to  marry  her.^ 

^SCH.  {aside.)  Undone  ! 

Mic.  What’s  the  matter? 

AEsch.  Nothing.  Very  well : proceed. 

Mic.  He  has  come  to  take  her  with  him ; for  he  lives  at 
Miletus. 


^ Obliges  him  to  marry  her) — Ver.  655.  It  appears  to  have  been  a 
law  given  by, Solon  to  the  Athenians  that  the  next  male  relative  of  suit- 
able age  should  marry  a female  orphan  himself,  or  find  her  a suitable 
portion.  Madame  Dacier  suggests  that  the  custom  was  derived  from 
the  Phoenicians,  who  had  received  it  from  the  Jews,  and  quotes  the 
Book  of  Numbers,  xxxvi.  8.  This  law  forms  the  basis  of  the  plot  of 
the  Phormio. 


Sc.  VI.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


235 


^SGii.  Wluit!  To  take  the  girl  away  with  him  “? 

Mic.  Such  is  the  fact. 

JEscii.  All  the  way  to  Miletus,  pray?^ 

Mic.  Yes. 

^SCH.  {aside.)  I’m  overwhelmed  with  grief.  {To  Micio.) 
But  what  of  them  ? What  do  they  say  1 

Mic.  What  do  you  suppose  they  should  ? Why,  nothing 
at  all.  The  mother  has  trumped  up  a tale,  that  there  is  a 
child  by  some  other  man,  I know  not  who,  and  she  does  not 
state  the  name ; she  says  that  he  was  the  first,  and  that  she 
ought  not  to  be  given  to  the  other.’ 

^SCH.  Well  now,  does  not  this  seem  just  to  you  after  all? 
Mic.  No. 

AEsch.  Why  not,  pray?  Is  the  other  to  be  carrying  her 
away  from  here  ? 

Mic.  Why  should  he  not  take  her  ? 

^SCH.  You  have  acted  harshly  and  unfeelingly,  and  even, 
if,  father,  I may  speak  my  sentiments  more  plainly,  unhand- 
somely. 

Mic.  Why  so  ? 

AEscii.  Do  you  ask  rne?  Pray,  what  do  you  think  must 
be  the  state  of  mind,  of  the  man  who  was  first  connected  with 
her,  who,  to  his  misfortune,  may  perhaps  still  love  her  to  dis- 
traction, when  he  sees  her  torn  away  from  before  his  face,  and 
borne  off  from  his  sight  forever?  An  unworthy  action,  fa- 
ther ! 

Mic.  On  what  grounds  is  it  so?  Who  betrothed  her?^ 
Who  gave  her  away  ? When  and  to  whom  was  she  married  ? 
Who  was  the  author  of  all  this?  Why  did  he  connect  him- 
self with  a woman  who  belonged  to  another  ? 

jEsch.  Was  it  to  be  expected  that  a young  woman  of  her 
age  should  sit  at  home,  waiting  till  a kinsman  of  hers  should 
come  from  a distance?  This,  my  father,  you  ought  to  have 
represented,  and  have  insisted  on  it. 


' To  Miletus^  pray  ?) — Ver.  G58.  A colony  of  Athens,  on  the  coast 
of  Asia  Minor. 

^ Who  betrothed  her?) — Ver.  673.  Donatus  observes  that  these  ques- 
tions, which  enumerate  all  the  proofs  requisite  for  a marriage,  are  an 
indirect  and  very  delicate  reproof  of  ^schinus  for  the  irregular  and 
clandestine  nature  of  his  proceedings. 


23G 


ADELPHI; 


[Act  IV. 


Mic.  Eidiculous!  Was  I to  have  pleaded  against  him 
whom  I was  to  support  ? But  what’s  all  this,  -dSschinus,  to 

us*?  What  have  we  to  do  with  them?  Let  us  begone: 

What’s  the  matter?  Why  these  tears? 

^scii.  (iveeping.)  Father,  I beseech  you,  listen  to  me. 

Mic.  -^schinus,  I have  heard  and  know  it. all;  for  I love 
you,  and  therefore  every  thing  you  do  is  the  more  a care  to 
me. 

^scii.  So  do  I wish  you  to  find  me  deserving  of  your 
love,  as  long  as  you  live,  my  dear  father,  as  I am  sincerely 
sorry  for  the  offense  I have  committed,  and  am  ashamed  to 
see  you. 

Mic.  Upon  my  word  1 believe  it,  for  I know  your  in- 
genuous disposition : but  I arn  afraid  that  you  are  too  incon- 
siderate. In  what  city,  pray,  do  you  suppose  you  live  ? You 
have  debauched  a virgin,  whom  it  was  not  lawful  for  you  to 
touch.  In  the  first  place  then  that  was  a great  offense ; 
great,  but  still  natural.  Others,  and  even  men  of  worth,  have 
frequently  done  the  same.  But  after  it  happened,  pray,  did 
you  show  any  circumspection  ? Or  did  you  use  any  foresight 
as  to  what  was  to  be  done,  or  how  it  was  to  be  done  ? If  you 
were  ashamed  to  tell  me  of  it,  by  what  means  was  I to  come 
to  know  it?  While  you  were  at  a loss  upon  these  points,  ten 
months  have  been  lost.  So  far  indeed  as  lay  in  your  power, 
you  have  periled  both  yourself  and  this  poor  girl,  and  the 
child.  What  did  you  imagine — that  the  Gods  would  set  these 
matters  to  rights  for  you  while  you  were  asleep,  and  that  she 
would  be  brought  home  to  your  chamber  without  any  exer- 
tions of  your  own  ? I would  not  have  you  to  be  equally  neg- 
ligent in  other  affairs.  Be  of  good  heart,  you  shall  have  her 
for  your  wife. 

^SCH.  Hah ! 

Mic.  Be  of  good  heart,  I tell  you. 

^scii.  Father,  are  you  now  jesting  with  me,  pray  ? 

Mic.  I,  jesting  with  you  ! F or  what  reason  ? 

H^sch.  I don’t  know ; but  so  anxiously  do  I wish  this  to 
be  true,  that  I am  the  more  afraid  it  may  not  be. 

Mic.  Go  home,  and  pray  to  the  Gods  that  you  may  have 
^your  wife ; be  off. 

H^sch.  What ! have  my  wife  now  ? 


Sc.  VII.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


237 


Mic.  Now. 

^scii.  Now? 

Mic.  Now,  as  soon  as  possible. 

^scii.  May  all  the  Gods  detest  me,  father,  if  I do  not  love 
you  better  than  even  my  very  eyes ! 

Mic.  What!  better  than  her? 

^SCH.  Quite  as  well. 

Mic.  Very  kind  of  you! 

-ZEsch.  Well,  where  is  this  Milesian? 

Mic.  Departed,  vanished,  gone  on  board  ship ; but  why  do 
you  delay? 

^SCH.  Father,  do  you  rather  go  and  pray  to  the  Gods  ; for 
I know,  for  certain,  that  they  will  rather  be  propitious  to  you,^ 
as  being  a much  better  man  than  I am. 

Mic.  ril  go  in-doors,  that  what  is  requisite  may  be  pre- 
pared. You  do  as  I said,  if  you  are  wise.  (Goes  into  his 
house.) 

Scene  VII. 
iEscHiNUS  alone. 

^scii.  What  can  be  the  meaning  of  this  ? Is  this  being  a 
father,  or  this  being  a son?  If  he  had  been  a brother  or 
familiar  companion,  how  could  he  have  been  more  complai- 
sant ! Is  he  not  worthy  to  be  beloved  ? Is  he  not  to  be  im- 
printed in  my  very  bosom?  Well  then,  the  more  does  he  im- 
pose an  obligation  on  me  by  his  kindness,  to  take  due  precau- 
tion not  inconsiderately  to  do  any  thing  that  he  may  not  wish. 
But  why  do  I delay  going  in-doors  this  instant,  that  I may 
not  myself  delay  my  own  nuptials?  {Goes  into  the  house  of 
Micio. ) 

^ Propitious  to  you) — Ver.  707.  Donatus  remarks  that  there  is  great 
delicacy  in  this  compliment  of  ^schinus  to  Micio,  which,  though  made 
in  his  presence,  does  not  bear  the  semblance  of  flattery.  Madame  Da- 
cier  thinks  that  Terence  here  alludes  to  a line  of  Hesiod,  which  says 
that  it  is  the  duty  of  the  aged  to  pray.  Colman  suggests  that  the  pas- 
sage is  borrowed  from  some  lines  of  Menander  still  in  existence. 


238 


ADELPHI ; 


[Act  IV. 


Scene  VIII. 

Enter  Demea. 

I am  quite  tired  with  walking : May  the  great  Jupiter  con- 
found you,  Syrus,  together  with  your  directions!  I have 
crawled  the  whole  city  over ; to  the  gate,  to  the  pond — where 
not  ? There  was  no  joiner’s  shop  there ; not  a soul  could  say 
he  had  seen  my  brother ; but  now  I’m  determined  to  sit  and 
wait  at  his  house  till  he  returns. 

Scene  IX. 

Enter  Micio  from  Ms  house. 

Mic.  {speaking  to  the  people  ivithin.)  I’ll  go  and  tell  them 
there’s  no  delay  on  our  part. 

Dem.  But  see  here’s  the  very  man : O Micio,  I have  been 
seeking  you  this  long  time. 

Mic.  Why,  what’s  the  matter? 

Dem.  I’m  bringing  you  some  new  and  great  enormities  of 
that  hopeful  youth. 

Mic.  Just  look  at  that! 

Dem.  Fresh  ones,  of  blackest  dye. 

Mic.  There  now^ — at  it  again. 

Dem.  Ah,  Micio!  you  little  know  what  sort  of  person 
he  is. 

Mic.  I do. 

Dem.  O simpleton ! you  are  dreaming  that  I’m  talking 
about  the  Music-girl;  this  crime  is  against  a virgin  and  a 
citizen. 

Mic.  I know  it. 

i'fiDEM.  So  then,  you  know  it,  and  put  up  with  it ! 

Mic.  Why  not  put  up  with  it? 

Dem.  Tell  me,  pray,  don’t  you  exclaim  about  it?  Don’t 
you  go  distracted  ? 

Mic.  Not  I : certainly  I had  rather^ 

^ Certainly  I had  rather') — Ver.  730.  He  pauses  after  “quidem,”  but 
be  means  to  say  that  if  he  had  his  choice,  he  would  rather  it  had  not 
been  so. 


Sc.  IX.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


230 


Dem.  There  has  been  a child  born. 

Mic.  May  the  Gods  be  propitious  to  it, 

Dem.  The  girl  has  no  fortune. 

Mic.  So  I have  heard. 

Dem.  And  he — must  he  marry  her  without  one  ? 

Mic.  Of  course. 

Dem.  What  is  to  be  done  then  ? 

Mic.  AVhy,  what  the  case  itself  points  out : the  young  wo- 
man must  be  brought  hither. 

Dem.  O Jupiter!  must  that  be  the  way  then? 

Mic.  What  can  I do  else? 

Dem.  What  can  you  do?  If  in  reality  this  causes  you  no 
concern,  to  pretend  it  were  surely  the  duty  of  a man. 

Mic.  But  I have  already  betrothed  the  young  woman  to 
him ; the  matter  is  settled : the  marriage  takes  place  to-daij, 
I have  removed  all  apprehensions.  This  is  rather  the  duty 
of  a man. 

Dem.  But  does  the  affiiir  please  youy  Micio? 

Mic.  If  I were  able  to  alter  it,  no  ; now,  as  I can  not,  I 
bear  it  with  patience.  The  life  of  man  is  just  like  playing 
with  dice  if  that  which  you  most  want  to  throw  does 
not  turn  up,  what  turns  up  by  chance  you  must  correct  by 
art. 

Dem.  0 rare  corrector!  of  course  it  is  by  your  art  that 
twenty  min^  have  been  thrown  away  for  a Music-girl  ; who, 
ns  soon  as  possible,  must  be  got  rid  of  at  any  price  ;\nd  if  not 
for  money,  why  then  for  nothing. 

Mic.  Not  at  all,  and  indeed  I have  no  wish  to  sell  her. 

Dem.  What  will  you  do  with  her  then  ? 

Mic.  She  shall  be  at  my  house. 

Dem.  For  heaven’s  sake,  a courtesan  and  a matron  in  the 
same  house ! 

^ Inlaying  with  dice) — Ver.  742.  The  “tesserae”  of  the  ancients  were 
cubes,  or  what  we  call  “ dice  while  the  “tali”  were  in  imitation  of 
the  knuckle-bones  of  animals,  and  were  marked  on  four  sides  only.  For 
some  account  of  the  mode  of  playing  with  the  “ tali,”  see  the  last  Scene 
of  the  Asinaria,  and  the  Curculio  of  Plautus,  1.  257-9.  Madame  Da- 
cier  suggests  that  Menander  may  possibly  have  borrowed  this  passage 
from  the  Republic  of  Plato,  B.  X.,  where  he  says,  “We  should  take 
counsel  from  accidents,  and,  as  in  a game  at  dice,  act  according  to  what 
has  fallen,  in  the  manner  which  reason  tells  us  to  be  the  best.” 


240 


ADELPHI ; 


[Act  IV.,  Sc.  X. 


Mic.  Why  not'? 

Dem.  Do  you  imagine  you  are  in  your  senses  ? 

Mic.  Keally  I do  think  so. 

Dem.  So  may  the  Gods  prosper  me,  I now  see  your  folly ; 
I believe  you  are  going  to  do  so  that  you  may  have  somebody 
to  practice  music  with. 

Mic.  Why  not  ? 

Dem.  And  the  new-made  bride  to  be  learning  too  ? 

Mic.  Of  course. 

Dem.  Having  hold  of  the  rope,’  you  will  be  dancing  with 
them. 

Mic.  Like  enough;  and  you  too  along  with  us,  if  there’s 
need. 

Dem.  Ah  me ! are  you  not  ashamed  of  this '? 

Mic.  Demea,  do,  for  once,  lay  aside  this  anger  of  yours, 
and  show  yourself  as  you  ought  at  your  son’s  wedding,  cheer- 
ful and  good-humored.  I’ll  just  step  over  to  them,  and  return 
immediately.  (Goes  into  Sostrata’s  house.) 

• Scene  X. 

Demea  alone. 

Dem.  O Jupiter!  here’s  a life!  here  are  manners!  here’s 
madness!  A wife  to  be  coming  without  a fortune!  A music- 
wench  in  the  house ! A house  full  of  wastefulness ! A young 
man  ruined  by  extravagance  ! An  old  man  in  his  dotage! — 
Should  Salvation  herself^  desire  it,  she  certainly  could  not 
save  this  fiimily.  (Exit. 

^ Hold  of  the  rope) — Yer.  755.  “Restim  cluctans  saltabis.”  Donatus 
and  Madame  Dacier  think  that  this  is  only  a figurative  expression  for  a 
dance  in  which  all  joined  hands ; according  to  some,  however,  a dance  i 
is  alluded  to  where  the  person  who  led  off  drew  a rope  or  cord  after  | 
him,  which  the  rest  of  the  company  took  hold  of  as  they  danced ; which  | 
was  invented  in  resemblance  of  the  manner  in  which  the  wooden  horse 
was  dragged  by  ropes  into  the  city  of  Troy. 

2 Salvation  herself) — Ver.  764.  See  an  observation  relative  to  the 
translation  of  the  word  “Salus,”  in  the  Notes  to  Plautus,  vol.  i.  pages 
450. 


Act  V.,  Sc.  IL] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


241 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Syrus,  dvunk^  and  Demea,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
stage, 

Syr.  Upon  my  ftiitli,  my  dear  little  Syrus,  you  have  taken 
delicate  care  of  yourself,  and  have  done  your  duty^  with 
exquisite  taste ; be  off  with  you.  But  since  I’ve  had  my 
fill  of  every  thing  in-doors,  I have  felt  disposed  to  take  a 
walk.  ' 

Dem.  {apart)  Just  look  at  that  — there’s  an  instance  of 
their  good  training! 

Syr.  {to  himself.)  But  see,  here  comes  our  old  man.  {Ad- 
dressing him.)  What’s  the  matter?  Why  out  of  spirits? 

Dem.  Oh  you  rascal! 

Syr.  Hold  now;  are  you  spouting  your  sage  maxims 
here? 

Dem.  If  you  were  my  servant 

Syr.  Why,  you  would  be  a rich  man,  Demea,  and  improve 
your  estate. 

Dem.  I would  take  care  that  you  should  be  an  example  to 
all  the  rest. 

Syr.  For  what  reason?  What  have  I done? 

Dem.  Do  you  ask  me  ? An  the  midst  of  this  confusion,  and 
during  the  greatest  mischief,  which  is  hardly  yet  set  right,  you 
have  been  getting  drunk,*  you  villain,  as  though  things  had 
been  going  on  well. 

Syr.  {aside.)  Really,  I wish  I hadn’t  come  out. 

Scene  II. 

Enter  Dromo  in  haste,  from  the  house  of  Micio. 

Dro.  Halloo,  Syrus ! Ctesipho  desires  you’ll  come  back. 

Syr.  Get  you  gone.  {Pushes  him  hack  into  the  house.) 

* Have  done  your  duty)—YQX.  767.  His  duty  of  providing  the  viands 
and  drink  for  the  entertainment.  So  Ergasilus  says  in  the  Captivi  of 
Plautus,  1.  912,  “ Now  I will  go  off  to  my  government  (pr^fecturam),  to 
give  laws  to  the  bacon.” 


242 


ADELPHI ; 


[Act  V. 


Dem.  What  is  it  he  says  about  Ctesipho  ? 

8yr.  Nothing. 

Dem.  How  now,  you  hang-dog,  is  Ctesipho  in  the  house? 

Syr.  He  is  not. 

Dem.  Then  why  does  he  mention  him  ? 

Syr.  It’s  another  person ; a little  diminutive  Parasite. 
Don’t  you  know  him  ? 

Dem.  I will  know  him  before  long.  {Going  to  the  door.) 

Syr.  {stopping  /«m.)  What  are  you  about?  Whither  are 
you  going? 

Dem.  {struggling.)  Let  me  alone. 

^ Syr.  {holding  him.)  Don’t,  I tell  you. 

Dem.  Won’t  you  keep  your  hands  off,  whip-scoundrel? 
Or  would  you  like  me  to  knock  your  brains  out  this  instant  ? 
{Rashes  into  the  house.) 

Syr.  He’s  gone ! no  very  pleasant  boon-companion,  upon 
my  faith,  particularly  to  Ctesipho.  What  am  I to  do  now? 
Why,  even  get  into  some  corner  till  this  tempest  is  lulled, 
and  sleep  off  this  drop  of  wine.  That’s  my  plan.  {Goes  into 
the  house j staggering.) 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Micio,  from  the  house  of  Sostrata. 

Mic.  {to  Sostrata,  ivithin.)  Every  thing’s  ready  with  us, 
as  I told  you,  Sostrata,  when  you  like. — Who,  I wonder,  is 
making  my  door  fly  open  with  such  fury  ? 

Enter  De3IEA  in  haste^  from  the  house  of  Micic. 

De3I.  Alas ! what  shall  I do  ? How  behave  ? In  what 
terms  exclaim,  or  how  make  my  complaint?  O heavens! 
O earth ! O seas  of  Neptune  ! 

Mic.  {apart.)  Here’s  for  you  I he  has  discovered  all  about 
the  affair  ; and  of  course  is  now  raving  about  it ; a quarrel  is 
the  consequence;  I must  assist  him,i  however. 

^ / must  assist  him) — Yer.  795.  Colman  remarks  on  this  passage: 
“ The  character  of  Micio  appears  extremely  amiable  through  the  first 
four  Acts  of  this  Comedy,  and  his  behavior  is  in  many  respects  worthy 
of  imitation;  but  his  conduct  in  conniving  at  the  irregularities  of 
Ctesipho,  and  even  assisting  him  to  support  them,  is  certainly  repre- 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


243 


Dem.  See,  here  comes  the  common  corrupter  of  my  chil- 
dren. 

Mic.  Pray  moderate  your  passion,  and  recover  yourself. 

Dem.  I have  moderated  it ; I am  myself ; I forbear  all  re- 
proaches; let  us  come  to  the  point:  was  this  agreed  upon 
between  us, — proposed  by  yourself,  in  fact, — that  you  were 
not  to  concern  yourself  about  my  son.,  nor  I about  yours  ? 
Answer  me. 

Mic.  It  is  the  fiict, — I don’t  deny  it. 

Dem.  Why  is  he  now  carousing  at  your  house?  Why  are 
you  harboring  my  son  ? Why  do  you  purchase  a mistress  for 
him,  Micio  ? Is  it  at  all  fair,  that  I should  have  any  less  jus- 
tice from  you,  than  you  from  me?  Since  I do  not  concern 
myself  about  your  son,  don’t  you  concern  yourself  about  mine. 

Mic.  You  don’t  reason  fairly. 

Dem.  No? 

Mic.  For  surely  it  is  a maxim  of  old,  that  among  them- 
selves all  things  are  common  to  friends. 

Dem.  Smartly  said;  you’ve  got  that  speech  up  for  the  oc- 
casion. 

Mic.  Listen  to.  a few’  words,,  unless  it  is  disagreeable,  Dc- 
mea.  In  the  first  place,  if  the  extravagance  your  sons  are 
guilty  of  distresses  you,  pray  do  reason  with  yourself.  You 
formerly  brought  up  the  two  suitably  to  your  circumstances, 
thinking  that  your  own  property  would  have  to  suffice  for 
them  both ; and,  of  course,  you  then  thought  that  I should 
marry.  Adhere  4o  that  same  old  rule  of  yours, — save,  scrape 
together,  and  be  ihvihj  for  them ; take  care  to  leave  them  as 
much  as  possible,  and  take  that  credit  to  yourself:  my  for- 
tune, which  has  come  to  them  beyond  their  expectation,  allow 
them  to  enjoy ; of  your  capital  there  will  be  no  diminution ; 
what  comes  from  this  quarter,  set  it  all  down  as  so  much 
gain.  If  you  think  proper  impartially  to  consider  these  mat- 
ters in  your  mind,  Demea,  you  will  save  me  and  yourself,  and 
them,  considerable  uneasiness. 

Dem.  I don’t  speak  about  the  expense ; their  morals 

Mic.  Hold;^I  understand  you;  that  point  I was  coming 

hensible.  Perhaps  the  Poet  threw  this  shade  over  his  virtues  on  pur- 
pose to  show  that  mildness  and  good-humor  might  he  carried  to  ex- 
|.cess.” 


ADELPIII ; 


[Act  V. 


244 

toJ  There  are  in  men,  Demea,  many  signs  from  which  a 
conjecture  is  easily  formed ; so  that  when  two  persons  do  the 
same  thing,  you  may  often  say,  this  one  may  be  allowed  to  do 
it  with  impunity,  the  other  may  not ; not  that  the  thing  itself 
is  different,  but  that  he  is  who  does  it.  I see  signs  in  them, 
so  as  to  feel  confident  that  they  will  turn  out  as  we  wish.  I 
see  that  they  have  good  sense  and  understanding,  that  they 
have  modesty  upon  occasion,  and  are  affectionate  to  each 
other;  you  may  infer  that  their  bent  and  disposition  is  of  a 
pliant  nature ; at  any  time  you  like  you  may  reclaim  them. 
But  still,  you  may  be  apprehensive  that  they  will  be  somewhat 
too  apt  to  neglect  their  interests.  O my  dear  Demea,  in  all 
other  things  we  grow  wiser  with  age ; this  sole  vice  does  old 
age  bring  upon  men:  we  are  all  more  solicitous  about  our 
own  interests  than  we  need  be  ; and  in  this  respect  age  will 
make  them  sharp  enough. 

Dem.  Only  take  care^  Micio,  that  these  fine  reasonings  of 
yours,  and  this  easy  disposition  of  yours,  do  not  ruin  us  in  the 
end. 

Mic.  Say  no  more  ; there’s  no  danger  of  that.  Now  think 
no  further  of  these  matters.  Put  yourself  to-day  into  my 
hands  ; smooth  your  brow. 

Dem.  Why,  as  the  occasion  requires  it,  I must  do  so ; but 
to-morrow  I shall  he  off  with  my  son  into  the  country  at  day- 
break. 

Mic.  Aye,  to-night,  for  my  share;  only  keep  yourself  in 
good-humor  for  the  day. 

Dem.  I’ll  carry  off  that  Music-girl  along  with  me  as  well. 

Mic.  You  will  gain  your  point ; by  that  means  you  wilt 
keep  your  son  fast  there ; only  take  care  to  secure  her. 

Dem.  I’ll  see  to  that ; and  what  with  cooking  and  grinding, 
I’ll  take  care  she  shall  be  well  covered  with  ashes,  smoke,  and 

^ That  point  I ivas  coming  to) — Ver.  821.  Colmaii  observes  here: 

Madame  Dacier  makes  an  observation  on  this  speech,  something  like 
that  of  Donatus  on  one  of  Micio’s  above ; and  says  that  Micio,  being 
hard  put  to  it  by  the  real  circumstances  of  the  case,  thinks  to  confound 
Demea  by  a nonsensical  gallimatia.  I can  not  be  ^of  the  ingenious 
lady’s  opinion  on  this  matter,  for  I think  a more  sensible  speech  could 
not  be  made,  nor  a better  plea  offered  in  favor  of  the  young  men,  than 
that  of  Micio  in  the  present  instance.” 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  brothers. 


245 


meal ; besides  all  this,  at  the  very  mid-day ^ ITl  set  her  gath- 
ering stubble  ; ITl  make  her  as  burned  and  as  black  as  a 
coal. 

Mio.  You  quite  delight  me;  now  you  seem  to  me  to  be 
wise ; and  for  my  part  I would  then  compel  my  son  to  go  to 
bed  with  her,  even  though  he  should  be  unwilling. 

Dem.  Do  you  banter  me  % Happy  man,  to  have  such  a 
temper ! I feel 

Mic.  Ah  ! at  it  again  ! 

Dem.  ITl  have  done  then  at  once. 

Mic.  Go  in-doors  then,  and  let’s  devote  this  day  to  the  ob- 
ject- to  which  it  belongs.  {Goes  into  the  house.) 

Scene  IV. 

Demea  alone. 

Dem.  Never  was  there  any  person  of  ever  such  well-trained 
habits  of  life,  but  that  experience,  age,  and  custom  are  always 
bringing  him  something  new,  or  suggesting  something ; so 
much  so,  that  what  you  believe  you  know  you  don’t  know, 
and  what  you  have  fancied  of  first  importance  to  you,  on 
making  trial  you  reject ; and  this  is  my  case  at  present : 
for  the  rigid  life  I have  hitherto  led,  my  race  nearly  run, 
I now  renounce.  Why  so  ? — I have  found,  by  experience, 
that  there  is  nothing  better  for  a man  than  an  easy  temper 
and  complacency.  That  this  is  the  truth,  it  is  easy  for  any 
one  to  understand  on  comparing  me  with  my  brother.  He  has 
always  spent  his  life  in  ease  and  gayety ; mild,  gentle,  offensive 
to  no  one,  having  a smile  for  all,  he  has  lived  for  himself,  and 
has  spent  his  money  for  himself ; all  men  speak  well  of  him, 
all  love  him.  I,  again^  a rustic,  a rigid,  cross,  self-denying, 
morose  and  thrifty  person,  married  a wife  ; what  misery  I en- 
tailed in  consequence  I Sons  were  born — a fresh  care.  And 
just  look,  while  I have  been  studying  to  do  as  much  as  pos- 
sible for  them,  I have  worn  out  my  life  and  years  in  saving ; 
now,  in  the  decline  of  my  days,  the  return  I get  from  them 
for  my  pains  is  their  dislike.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  with.. 

^ At  the  very  mid-day) — Ver.  851.  Exposed  to  the  heat  of  a mid-day 
sun. 

“ To  the  ohject) — Ver.  857.  The  marriage  and  its  festivities. 


246 


ADELFHI ; 


[Act  V. 


out  any  trouble  on  his  part,  enjoys  a father’s  comforts ; they 
love  him  ; me  they  shun  ; him  they  trust  with  all  their  secrets, 
are  fond  of  him,  are  always  with  him.  I am  forsaken ; they 
wish  him  to  live ; but  my  death,  forsooth,  they  are  longing 
for.  Thus,  after  bringing  them  up  with  all  possible  pains,  at 
a trifling  cost  he  has  made  them  his  own  ; thus  I bear  all  the 
misery,  he  enjoys  the  pleasure.  Well,  then,  henceforward 
let  us  try,  on  the  other  hand,  whether  I can’t  speak  kindly 
and  act  complaisantly,  as  he  challenges  me  to  it : I also  want 
myself  to  be  loved  and  highly  valued  by  my  friends.  If  that 
is  to  be  effected  by  giving  and  indulging,  I will  not  be  be- 
hind him.  If  our  means  fail,  that  least  concerns  me,  as  I am 
the  eldest.^ 


Scene  V. 

Enter  Syrus. 

Syr.  Hark  you,  Demea,  your  brother  begs  you  will  not  go 
out  of  the  way. 

Dem.  Who  is  it  ? — O Syrus,  my  friend^-  save  you  ! how  are 
you?  How  goes  it  with  you? 

Syr.  Very  well. 

Dem.  Very  good.  {Aside.)  I have  now  for  the  first  time 
used  these  three  expressions  contrary  to  my  nature, — O 
Syrus,  my  friend,  how  are  you  ? — how  goes  it  with  you  ?” 
{To  Syrus.)  You  show  yourself  far  from  an  unworthy  serv- 
ant, and  I shall  gladly  do  you  a service. 

Syr.  I thank  you. 

Dem.  Yes,  Syrus,  it  is  the  truth  ; and  you  shall  be  con- 
vinced of  it  by  experience  before  long. 

Scene  YI. 

Enter  from  the  house  o/*  Sostrata. 

Geta  {to  SosTRATA,  Within).  Mistress,  I am  going  to  see 

^ .Am  the  eldest) — Ver.  884.  And  therefore  likely  to  be  the  first  to 
die,  and  to  avoid  seeing  such  a time  come. 

2 0 Syrus,  my  friend) — Yer.  886.  The  emptiness  of  his  poor  attempts 
to  be  familiar  are  very  evident  in  this  line. 


Sc.  VIL] 


THE  BROTOERS. 


247 


after  them,  that  they  may  send  for  the  damsel  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible; but  see,  here’s  Demea.  {Accosting  him.)  Save  you! 

Dem.  O,  what’s  your  name? 

Geta.  Geta. 

Dem.  Geta,  I have  this  day  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
you  are  a man  of  very  great  worth,  for  I look  upon  him  as 
an  undoubtedly  good  servant  who  has  a care  for  his  master ; 
as  I have  found  to  be  your  case,  Geta;  and  for  that  reason, 
if  any  opportunity  should  offer,  I would  gladly  do  you  a 
service.  {Aside.)  I am  practicing  the  afflible,  and  it  succeeds 
very  well. 

Geta.  You  are  kind,  sir^  to  think  so. 

Dem.  {aside.)  Getting  on  by  degrees — I’ll  first  make  the 
lower  classes  my  own. 


Scene  YII. 

Enter  ^schinus,  from  the  house  of  Micio. 

^SCH.  {to  himself.)  They  really  are  killing  me  while  too 
intent  on  performing  the  nuptials  with  all  ceremony;  the 
ivhole  day  is  being  wasted  in  their  preparations. 

Dem.  ^schinus ! how  goes  it  ? 

^SCH.  Ha,  my  father ! are  you  here  ? 

Dem.  Your  father,  indeed,  both  by  affection  and  by  nature  ; 
as  I love  you  more  than  my  very  eyes ; but  why  don’t  you 
send  for  your  wife  ? 

^SCH,  So  I wish  to  do;  but  I am  waiting  for  the  inusic- 
girP  and  people  to  sing  the  nuptial  song. 

Dem.  Come  now,  are  you  willing  to  listen  to  an  old  fellow 
like  me  ? 

^SCH.  What  is  it  ? 

Dem.  Let  those  things  alone,  the  nuptial  song,  the  crowds, 
the  torches,'-^  and  the  music-girls,  and  order  the  stone  wall  in 

^ The  music-girl) — Ver.  908.  ‘‘ Tibicina3,”  or  music-girls,  attended 
at  marriage  ceremonials.  See  the  Auliilaria  of  Plautus,  where  Mega- 
dorus  hires  the  music-girls  on  his  intended  marriage  with  the  daughter 
of  Euclio. 

^ The  croicds.,  the  torches) — Ver.  910.  See  the  Casina  of  Plautus,  Act 
IV.,  Scenes  3 and  4,  for  some  account  of  the  marriage  ceremonial.  The 
torches,  music-girls,  processions,  and  hymeneal  song,  generally  accom- 
panied a wedding,  but  from  the  jjresent  passage  we  may  conclude  that 
they  were  not  considered  absolutely  necessary. 


248 


ADELPHI; 


[Act  A'. 


the  garden^  here  to  be  pulled  down  with  all  dispatch,  and 
bring  her  over  that  way;  make  but  one  house  of  the  two; 
bring  the  mother  and  all  the  domestics  over  to  our  house. 

-discH.  With  all  my  heart,  kindest  father. 

Dem.  {aside.)  Well  done!  now  I am  called  ‘^kind.”  My 
brother’s  liouse  will  become  a thoroughfare  ; he  will  be  bring- 
ing home  a multitude,  incurring  expense  in  many  ways  : what 
matters  it  to  me  ? I,  as  the  kind  Demea.,  shall  get  into  favor. 
Now  then,  bid  that  Babylonian^  pay  down  his  twenty  minss. 
{To  Syrus.)  Syrus,  do  you  delay  to  go  and  do  it  ? 

Syr.  What  am  I to  do  ? 

Dem.  Puli  down  the  ivall:  and  you,  Geta^  go  and  bring 
them  across. 

Geta.  May  the  Gods  bless  you,  Demea,  as  I see  you  so 
sincere  a well-wisher  to  our  family.  (Geta  and  Syrus  go 
into  Micio’s  house.) 

Dem.  I think  they  deserve  it.  What  say  you,  jEschinuSj 
as  to  this  plan  ? 

JEsch.  I quite  agree  to  it. 

Dem.  It  is  much  more  proper  than  that  she,  being  sick  and 
lying-in,  should  be  brought  hither  through  l!.e  street. 

jEsch.  Why,  my  dear  father,  I never  did  see  any  thing 
better  contrived. 

Dem.  It’s  my  way ; but  see,  here’s  Micio  coming  out. 


Scene  VIII. 

Enter  Micio,  from  his  house, 

Mic.  {speaking  to  Geta,  within.)  Does  my  brother  order  it? 
Where  is  he?  {To  Demea.)  Is  this  your  order,  Demea? 

Dem.  Certainly,  I do  order  it,  and  in  this  matter,  and  in 
every  thing  else,  wish  especially  to  make  this  family  one  with 
ourselves,  to  oblige,  serve,  and  unite  them. 

^ Stone  wall  in  the  garden) — Yer.  911.  The  “maceria,”or  garden-wall 
of  loose  stones,  is  also  mentioned  in  the  Truculentus  of  Plautus,  1.  301. 

2 Bid  that  Babylonian) — Yer.  918.  This  passage  has  much  puzzled  the 
Commentators;  but  it  seems  most  probable  that  it  is  said  aside,  and 
that  in  consequence  of  his  profuseness  he  calls  his  brother  a Babylonian, 
(just  as  we  call  a wealthy  man  a nabob,)  and  says,  “AVell,  let  him,  Avith 
all  my  heart,  be  paying  twenty  minse  (between  £70  and  £80)  for  a mu- 
sic-girl.” 


Sc.  VII 1.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


249 


JEscii.  Father,  pray  let  it  be  so. 

Mic.  I do  not  oppose  it. 

Dem.  On  the  contrary,  i’  faith,  it  is  what  we  ought  to  do  : 
in  the  first  place,  she  is  the  mother  of  his  wife  {pointing  to 
aEsCHINUS). 

Mic.  She  is.  AVhat  then  ? 

Dem.  An  honest  and  respectable  woman. 

Mic.  So  they  say. 

Dem.  Advanced  in  years. 

Mic.  I am  aware  of  it. 

Dem.  Through  her  years,  she  is  long  past  child-bearing ; 
there  is  no  one  to  take  care  of  her ; she  is  a lone  w^oman. 

Mic.  {aside.)  What  can  be  his  meaning  *? 

Dem.  It  is  right  you  should  marry  her;  and  that  yon, 
JEschiniis.^  should  use  your  endeavors  to  effect  it. 

Mic.  T,  marry  her,  indeed  % 

Dem.  You. 

Mic. 

Dem.  You,  I say. 

Mic.  You  are  trifling ! 

Dem.  ^schnus^  if  you  are  a man,  he’ll  do  it 

JEsch.  My  dear  father 

Mic.  What,  ass!  do  you  attend  to  him*? 

Dem.  ’T  is  all  in  vain  ; it  can  not  be  otherwise. 

Mic.  You  are  mad  ! 

^SCH.  Do  let  me  prevail  on  you,  my  father. 

Mic.  Are  you  out  of  your  senses?  Take  yourself  off.^ 

Dem.  Come,  do  oblige  your  son. 

Mic.  Are  you  quite  in  your  right  mind?  Am  I,  in  my 
five-and-sixtieth . year,  to  be  marrying  at  last?  A decrepit 
old  woman  too?  Do  you  advise  me  to  do  this? 

AEsch.  Do  ; I have  promised  it.^ 

Mic.  Promised,  indeed;  be  generous  at  your  own  cost, 
young  man. 

Dem.  Come,  what  if  he  should  ask  a still  greater  fa- 
vor ? 

^ Take  yourself  off') — Ver.  940.  iEschinus,  ju'obably,  in  his  earnest- 
ness, has  seized  hold  of  him  with  his  hand,  which  Micio  now  pushes 
away. 

2 I have  promised  it) — Ver.  943.  This  is  not  the  truth;  the  notion  has 
onlv  been  started  since  he  last  saw  them. 

L 2 


250 


ADELPHI ; 


LAct  Y.  . 


Mic.  As  if  this  was  not  the  greatest ! 

Dem.  Do  comply. 

AEscii.  Don’t  make  any  difficulty. 

Dem.  Do  promise. 

Mic.  Will  you  not  have  done? 

-zEscii.  Not  until  I have  prevailed  upon  you. 

Mic.  lieally,  this  is  downright  force.  ^ 

Dem.  Act  with  heartiness,  Micio. 

Mic.  Although  this  seems  to  me‘^  to  be  wrong,  foolish,  ab- 
surd, and  repugnant  to  my  mode  of  life,  yet,  if  you  so  strong- 
ly wish  it,  be  it  so. 

..3^sch.  You  act  obligingly. 

Dem.  With  reason  I love  you  ; but 

Mic.  What? 

Dem.  I will  tell  you,  when  ray  wish  has  been  complied 
with. 

Mic.  What  now  ? What  remains  to  he  done  ? 

Dem.  Hegio  here  is  their  nearest,  relation ; he  is  a connec- 
tion of  ours  and  poor ; we  ought  to  do  some  good  for  him. 

Mic.  Do  what  ? 

Dem.  There  is  a little  farm  here  in  the  suburbs,  which  you 
let  out ; let  us  give  it  him  to  live  upon. 

MiCo  But  is  it  a little  one  ? 

Dem.  If  it  were  a large  one,  still  it  ought  to  be  done ; he 
has  been  as  it  were  a father  to  her ; he  is  a worthy  man,  and 
connected  with  us;  it  would  be  properly  bestowed.  In  line, 

" Really  ^ this  is  downright  force') — Ver.  94G.  ‘‘Vis  est  hisc  quidem.” 
The  same  expression  occurs  in  the  Captivi  of  Plautus,  1.  755.  The  ex- 
pression seemed  to  be  a common  one  with  the  Romans.  According  to 
Suetonius,  Julius  Caesar  used  it  when  attacked  by  his  murderers  in  the 
senate-house.  On  Tullius  Cimber  seizing  hold  of  his  garments,  he  ex- 
claimed, “Ita  quidem  vis  est!” — “Why,  really,  this  is  violence!” 

2 Jliis  seems  to  me) — Ver.  947.  Donatus  informs  us  that  in  Menan- 
der’s Play,  the  old  man  did  not  make  any  resistance  whatever  to  the 
match  thus  patched  up  for  him.  Colman  has  the  following  observation 
on  this  fact : “ It  is  surprising  that  none  of  the  critics  on  this  passage 
have  taken  notice  of  this  observation  of  Donatus,  especially  as  our  loss 
of  Menander  makes  it  rather  curious.  It  is  plain  that  Terence  in  the 
plan  of  his  last  Act  followed  Menander ; but  though  he  has  adopted  the 
absurdity  of  marrying  Micio  to  the  old  lady,  yet  we  learn  from  Donatus 
that  his  judgment  rather  revolted  at  this  circumstance,  and  he  improved 
on  his  original  by  making  Micio  express  a repugnance  to  such  a match, 
which  it  seems  he  did  not  in  the  Play  of  Menander.” 


Sc.  IX.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


:>5l 

I now  adopt  that  proverb  which  you,  Micio,  a short  time  ago 
repeated  with  sense  and  wisdom — it  is  the  common  vice  of 
all,  in  old  age,  to  be  too  intent  upon  our  own  interests.  This 
stain  we  ought  to  avoid : it  is  a true  maxim,  and  ought  to  be 
observed  in  deed. 

Mic.  What  am  I to  say  to  this?  Well  then,  as  he  desires 
it  {pointing  to  ^schinus),  it  shall  be  given  him. 

JEsch.  My  father! 

Dem.  Now,  Micio,  you  arc  indeed  my  brother,  both  in 
spirit  and  in  body. 

Mic.  I am^glad  of  it. 

Dem.  {aside.)  I foil  him  at  his  own  weapon.  ^ 


Scene  IX. 

Enter  Syrus,  from  the  house. 

Syr.  It  has  been  done  as  you  ordered,  Demea. 

Dem.  You  are  a worthy  fellow.  Upon  my  faith, — in  my 
opinion,  at  least, — I think  Syrus  ought  at  once  to  be  made 
free. 

Mic.  He  free!  For  what  reason ? 

Dem.  For  many. 

Syr.  O my  dear  Demea ! upon  my  word,  you  are  a worthy 
man ! I have  strictly  taken  care  of  both  these  sons  of  yours, 
from  childhood ; I have  taught,  advised,  and  carefully  in- 
structed them  in  every  thing  I could. 

Dem.  The  thing  is  evident;  and  then,  besides  all  this,  to 
cater  /br  them^  secretly  bring  home  a wench,  prepare  a morn- 
ing entertainment;^  these  are  the  accomplishments  of  no  or- 
dinary person. 

Syr.  O,  what  a delightful  man  ! 

Dem.  Last  of  all,  he  assisted  to-day  in  purchasing  this 
Music-wench — he  had  the  management  of  it ; it  is  right  he 
should  be  rewarded  ; other  servants  will  be  encouraged  there- 
by : besides,  he  {pointing  to  ^schinus)  desires  it  to  be  so. 

^ At  his  own  weapon) — Ver.  961.  He  probably  means,  by  aping  the 
kind  feeling  which  is  a part  of  Micio’s  character. 

^ A morning  entertainment) — Ver.  969.  A banquet  in  the  early  part 
or  middle  of  the  day  was  considered  by  the  Greeks  a debauch. 


252  ADELPHI;  [Act  V. 

Mic.  {to  ^scniNUS.)  Do  you  desire  this  to  be  done  ? 

-^SCH.  I do  wish  it. 

Mic.  Why  then,  if  you  desire  it,  just  come  hither,  Syrus, 
to  me  ( performing  the  ceremony  of  manumission) ; be  a free 
man.^ 

Syk.  You  act  generously  ; I return  my  thanks  to  you  all ; 
— and  to  you,  Demea,  in  particular. 

Dem.  I congratulate  you. 

^SCH.  And  1. 

Syr.  I believe  you.  I wish  that  this  joy  were  made  com- 
plete— that  I could  see  my  wife,  Phrygia,'^  free  as  AvelL 

Dem.  Keally,  a most  excellent  woman. 

Syr.  And  tlie  first  to  suckle  your  grandchild,  his  son,  to- 
day  {pointing  to  JEschinus). 

Dem.  Why  really,  in  seriousness,  if  she  was  the  first  to  do 
so,  there  is  no  doubt  she  ought  to  be  made  free. 

Mic.  for  doing  that  ? 

Dem.  PYr  doing  that ; in  fine,  receive  the  amount  from  me^ 
at  which  she  is  valued. 

Syr.  May  all  the  Gods  always  grant  you,  Demea,  all  you 
desire. 

Mic.  Syrus,  you  have. thrived  pretty  well  to-day. 

Dem.  If,  in  addition,  Micio,  you  will  do  your  duty,  and  lend 
him  a little  ready  money  in  hand  for  present  use,  he  will  soon 
repay  you. 

Mic.  Less  than  this  {snapping  his  fingers). 

jEsch.  He  is  a deserving  fellow. 

Syr.  Upon  my  word,  I will  repay  it ; only  lend  it  me. 

^SCH.  Do,  father. 

Mic.  ril  consider  of  it  afterward. 

Dem.  He’ll  do  it,  Syrus. 

Syr.  O most  worthy  man  ! 

.^SCH.  O most  kind-hearted  father ! 

^ Be  a free  man) — Yer.  974.  He  touches  Syrus  on  the  ear,  ar.d 
makes  him  free.  The  same  occurs  in  the  Epidicus  of  Plautus,  Act  A'., 
Sc.  2,  1.  65. 

^ My  wife^  Phrygia) — Ver.  977.  The  so-called  marriage,  or  rather  co- 
habitation, of  the  Roman  slaves  will  be  found  treated  upon  in  the  Notes 
to  Plautus.  Syrus  calls  Phrygia  his  wife  on  anticipation  that  she  v ill 
become  a free  woman. 

^ Receive  the  amount  from  me) — Ver.  981.  The  only  sign  of  generosity 
he  has  yet  shown. 


i', 


Sc.  IX.] 


THE  BKOTHEKS. 


25:3 

Mic.  How  is  this?  AVIiat  lias  so  suddenly  changed  your 
disposition,  Demea  ? What  caprice  is  this?  \Wiat  means  this 
sudden  liberality?^ 

Dem.  I will  tell  you : — That  I may  convince  you  of  this, 
Micio,  that  the  fact  that  they  consider  you  an  easy  and  kind- 
hearted  man,  does  not  proceed  from  your  real  life,  nor,  in- 
deed, from  a regard  for  virtue  and  justice ; but  from  your 
humoring,  indulging,  and  pampering  them.  Kow  therefore, 
xEschinus,  if  my  mode  of  life  has  been  displeasing  to  you,  be- 
cause I do  not  quite  humor  you  in  every  thing,  just  or  un- 
just, I have  done:  squander,  buy,  do  what  you  please.  But 
if  you  would  rather  have  one  to  reprove  and  correct  those 
faults,  the  results  of  which,  by  reason  of  your  youth,  you  can 
not  see,  which  you  pursue  too  ardently,  and  are  thoughtless 
upon,  and  in  due  season  to  direct  you  ; behold  me  ready  to  do 
it  for  you. 

^SCH.  Father,  we  leave  it  to  you ; you  best  know  what 
ought  to  be  done.  But  what  is  to  be  done  about  my  brother? 

Dem.  I consent.  Let  him  have  his  mistress  with  her  let 
him  make  an  end  of  his  follies. 

Mic.  That’s  right.  {To  the  Audience.)  Grant  us  your 
applause. 

^ This  sadden  liberaltty) — Yer.  989.  ‘‘Quid  prolubium?  Quiis  istsec 
subita  est  largitas  ?”  Madame  Dacier  tells  us  that  this  passage  was 
borrowed  from  Ccecilius,  the  Comic  Poet. 

^ Let  him  have  his  mistress) — Yer.  1001.  It  must  be  remembered  that 
he  has  the  notions  of  a Greek  parent,  and  sees  no  such  criminality  in 
this  sanction  as  a parent  would  be  sensible  of  at  the  present  day. 


HECYEAj  THE  MOTHER.IN.LAW. 


DRAMATIS  PERSONiE. 

Laches,^  an  aged  Athenian,  father  of  Pamphilus. 

Phidippus,^  an  aged  Athenian,  father  of  Philumena. 
Pamphilus,^  son  of  Laches. 

SosiA,'^  servant  of  Pamphilus. 

Parmeno,^  servant  of  Sostrata. 

SosTEATA,®  wife  of  Laches. 

Myrrhina,’  wife  of  Phidippus. 

Bacchis,®  a Courtesan. 

Philotis,®  a Courtesan. 

Syra,’®  a Procuress. 

Scene. — Athens  ; before  the  houses  of  Laches,  Phidippus,  and  Bac- 

CHIS. 


* See  the  Dramatis  Personfe  of  the  Eunuchus. 

® From  (peidd,  “parsimony,”  and  lirndgy  “a  horse.” 

^ See  the  Dramatis  Personje  of  the  Andria. 

^ See  the  Dramatis  Personre  of  the  Andria. 

® See  the  Dramatis  Personae  of  the  Eunuchus. 

® See  the  Dramatis  Personae  of  the  Heautontimorumenos. 
’ From  juv^pivT),  “ a myrtle.” 

® See  the  Dramatis  Personae  of  the  Heautontimorumenos. 

* From  (l)t9ioT7)g,  “friendship.” 

From  Syria,  her  native  country. 


THE  SUBJECT. 


Pamphilus,  the  son  of  Laches  by  his  wife  Sostrata,  being  at  tlie  time 
enamored  of  Bacchis,  a Courtesan,  chances,  one  night,  in  a drunken 
fit,  to  debauch  Philumena,  the  daughter  of  Phidippus  and  Myrrhiua. 
In  the  struggle  he  takes  a ring  from  her,  which  he  gives  to  Bacchis. 
Some  time  afterward,  at  his  father’s  express  desire,  he  consents  to 
marry.  By  chance  the  young  woman  whom  he  has  ravished  is 
given  to  him  as  a wife,  to  the  great  joy  of  her  mother,  who  alone 
is  aware  of  her  misfortune,  and  hopes  that  her  disgrace  may  be 
thereby  concealed.  It,  however,  happens  otherwise  ; for  Pamphilus, 
still  retaining  his  passion  for  Bacchis,  refuses  for  some  time  to  cohabit 
with  her.  Bacchis,  however,  now  rejects  the  advances  of  Pamphilus, 
who  by  degrees  becomes  weaned  from  his  affection  for  her,  and  grows 
attached  to  his  wife,  whom  he  has  hitherto  disliked.  Meantime, 
however,  he  is  suddenly  called  away  from  home.  During  his  absence, 
Philumena,  finding  herself  pregnant  in  consequence  of  her  misfortune 
before  her  marriage,  fearing  detection,  especially  avoids  the  company 
of  her  mother-in-law.  At  length  she  makes  an  excuse  for  returning 
to  the  home  of  her  own  parents,  where  she  remains.  Sostrata  there- 
upon sends  for  her,  but  is  answered  that  she  is  ill,  on  which  she  goes 
to  see  her,  but  is  refused  admittance  to  the  house.  On  hearing  of 
this.  Laches  blames  his  wife  as  being  the  cause  of  this  estrangement. 
Pamphilus  now  returns,  and  it  so  happens  that,  on  the  day  of  his  ar- 
rival, Philumena  is  brought  to  bed  of  a child.  Impatient  to  see  her, 
Pamphilus  rushes  into  her  room,  and  to  his  great  distress  finds  that 
this  is  the  case.  Myrrhina  thereupon  entreats  him  to  keep  the  mat- 
ter secret,  and  begs  him,  if  he  refuses  to  receive  her  daughter  back 
again,  at  least  not  to  ruin  her  reputation  by  divulging  it. . As  he  now' 
declines  either  to  take  back  his  wfife  or  give  his  reason  for  so  doing. 
Laches  suspects  that  he  is  still  enamored  of  Bacchis,  and  accordingly 
sends  for  her,  and  expostulates  wdth  her.  She,  how'ever,  exonerates 
herself;  on  which  the  old  man,  supposing  that  Philumena  and  her 
mother  are  equally  ignorant  with  himself  as  to  his  son’s  motives,  begs 
her  to  call  on  them  and  remove  their  suspicions.  AVhile  she  is  con- 
versing with  them,  they  recognize  the  ring  upon  her  finger  which 
Pamphilus  had  formerly  taken  from  Philumena.  By  means  of  this 
it  is  discovered  that  Pamphilus  himself  is  the  person  wLo  has  ravished 
Philumena ; on  w'hich,  overjoyed,  he  immediately  takes  home  his  wife 
and  son. 


THE  TITLE  OF  THE  PLAY. 


Performed  at  the  Megalensian  Games  ; Sextus  Julius  Caesar 
and  Cneius  Cornelius  Dolabella  being  Curule  JEdiles.  The 
whole  was  not  then  acted.  Flaccus,  the  freedman  of  Clau- 
dius, composed  the  music  to  a pair  of  flutes.  It  was  com- 
posed wholly  from  the  Greek  of  Menander.^  It  was  per- 
formed the  first  time  without  a Prologue.  Pepresented  a 
second  time;  Cneius  Octavius  and  T.  Manlius  being  Con- 
suls.2  It  was  then  brought  out  in  honor  of  L.  A^milius 
Paulus,  at  his  Funeral  Games,  and  was  not  approved  of. 
It  was  repeated  a third  time  ; Q.  Fulvius  and  L.  Marcius 
being  Curule  ^diles.  L.  Arnbivius  Turpio  performed  it. 
It  was  then  approved  of.^ 

^ Menander) — According  to  some,  this  Play  was  borrowed  from  the 
Greek  of  Apollodorus,  a Comic  Poet  and  contemporary  of  Menander, 
who  wrote  forty-seven  Plays. 

^ Being  Consuls) — Cneius  Octavius  Nepos  and  T.  Manlius  Torquatus 
were  Consuls  in  the  year  from  the  building  of  the  City  587,  and  b.c.  16G. 

^ It  was  then  approved  of) — “ Placuit.”  This  is  placed  at  the  end, 
in  consequence  of  the  inauspicious  reception  which  had  been  given  to  it 
on  the  two  first  representations.  See  the  account  given  in  the  Prologues. 


HECYKA;  THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


THE  SUMMARY  OF  C.  SULPITIUS  APOLLINARIS. 

Pamphilus  has  married  Philumena,  to  whom,  when  a virgin,  he  for- 
merly, not  knowing  who  she  was,  offered  violence ; and  whose  ring, 
which  he  took  off  by  force,  he  gave  to  his  mistress,  Bacchis,  a Court, 
esan.  Afterward  he  sets  out  for  Imbros,  not  having  touched  his 
bride.  Having  become  pregnant,  her  mother  brings  her  over  to  her 
own  house,  as  though  sick,  that  her  mother-in-law  may  not  know  it. 
Pamphilus  returns;  detects  her  being  delivered;  conceals  it;  but  de- 
termines not  to  take  back  his  wife.  His  father  imputes  this  to  his 
passion  for  Bacchis.  While  Bacchis  is  exculpating  herself,  Myr- 
rhina,  the  mother  of  the  injured  girl,  by  chance  recognizes  the  ring. 
Pamphilus  takes  back  his  wife,  together  with  his  son. 


THE  FIRST  PROLOGUE. 

Hecyra^  is  the  name  of  this  Play ; when  it  was  represent- 
ed for  the  first  time,  an  unusual  disaster  and  calamity^  inter- 
rupted it,  so  that  it  could  not  be  witnessed  throughout  or  esti- 
mated ; so  much  had  the  populace,  carried  away  with  '’admi- 
ration, devoted  their  attention  to  some  rope-dancing.  It  is 
now  offered  as  though  entirely  a new  Play  ; and  he  who  wrote 
it  did  not  wish  to  bring  it  forward  then  a second  time,  on  pur- 
pose that  he  might  be  able  again  to  sell  it.^  Other  Plays  of 

’ Hecyra) — Yer.  1.  The  Greek  word  "E/cpp«,  a,  “step-mother,”  or 
“mother-in-law,”  Latinized. 

2 And  calamity) — Ver.  3.  “Calamitas.”  This  word  is  used  in  the 
same  sense  in  the  first  line  of  the  Eunuch.  This  is  evidently  the  Pro- 
logue spoken  on  the  second  attempt  to  bring  forward  the  piece.  On 
the  first  occasion  it  probably  had  none.  “ Vitium”  w^as  a word  used  by 
the  Augurs,  with  whom  it  implied  an  unfavorable  omen,  and  thence 
came  to  be  used  for  any  misfortune  or  disaster.  He  seems  to  mean 
the  depraved  taste  of  the  public,  that  preferred  exhibitions  of  rope- 
dancers  and  pugilists  to  witnessing  his  Plays. 

^ Again  to  sell  it) — Ver.  7.  See  the  last  Note  to  the  Second  Pro- 
logue. 


258  HECYRA; 

his^  you  have  seen  represented ; I beg  you  now  to  give  your 
attention  to  this. 


THE  SECOND  PROLOGUE.^ 

I COME  to  you  as  an  envoy  from  the  Poet,  in  the  character 
of  prologue-speaker ; allow  me  to  be  a successful  pleader,  that  in 
my  old  age  I may  enjoy  the  same  privilege  that  I enjoyed  when 
a younger  man,  when  I caused  new  Plays,  that  had  b^en  once 
rejected,  to  come  into  favor ; so  that  his  writings  might  not  die 
with  the  Poet.  Among  them,  as  to  those  of  Caecilius,^  which 
I first  studied  when  new  ; in  some  of  which  I was  rejected ; in 
some  I kept  my  ground  with  difficulty.  As  I knew  that  the 
fortune  of  the  stage  was  varying,  where  the  hopes  were  uncer- 
tain, I submitted  to  certain  toil.  Those  I zealously  attempted 
to  perform,  that  from  the  same  writer  I might  learn  new  ones, 
and  not  discourage  him  from  his  pursuits.  I caused  them  to 
be  represented.  When  seen,  they  pleased.  Thus  did  I re- 
store the  Poet  to  his  place,  who  was  now  almost  weaned, 
through  the  malevolence  of  his  adversaries,  from  his  pursuits 
and  labors,  and  from  the  dramatic  art.  But  if  I had  at  that 
period  slighted  the  writer,  and  had  wished  to  use  iny  endeav- 

^ Other  Plays  of  his) — Yer.  8.  Madame  Dacier  informs  ns  that  Vos- 
sins  was  of  opinion  that  .the  second  representation  of  this  Play  did  not 
take  place  till  after  that  of  the  Adelphi.  In  that  case,  they  had  already 
seen  the  rest  of  his  Plays. 

^ Second  Prologue) — Engraphius  informs  ns  that  this  Prologne  was 
spoken  by  Ambivins  Tnrpio,  the  head  of  the  company  of  Actors. 

3 Ccecilius) — Yer.  14.  Colman  has  the  following  Note:  “A  famous 
Comic  Poet  among  the  Romans.  His  chief  excellences  are  said  to  have 
been,  the  gravity  of  his  style  and  the  choice  of  his  subjects.  The  first 
quality  was  attributed  to  him  by  Horace,  Tally,  etc.,  and  the  last  by 
Yarro.  ‘In  arguments  Cascilius  poscit  palmam,  in  ethesi  Terentius.' 
‘ In  the  choice  of  subjects,  Csecilius  demands  the  preference ; in  the  man- 
ners, Terence.’”  Madame  Dacier,  indeed,  renders  “in  argumentis,” 
“in  the  disposition  of  his  subjects.”  But  the  words  will  not  bear  that 
construction.  “ Argumentum,”  I believe,  is  uniformly  used  for  the  ar- 
gument itself,  and  never  implies  the  conduct  of  it ; as  in  the  Prologue  to 
the  Andrian,  “non  tarn  dissimili  argumento.”  Besides,  the  disposition 
of  the  subject  was  the  very  art  attributed  by  the  critics  of  those  days  to 
Terence,  and  which  Horace  mentions  in  the  very  same  line  with  the 
gravity  of  Cascilius,  distinguishing  them  as  the  several  characteristics 
of  each  writer,  “ Yincere  Cieciiius  gravitate,  Terentius  arte.” 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LA\Y. 


259 


ors  in  discouraging  him,  so  that  he  might  live  a life  of  idle- 
ness rather  than  of  study,  I might  have  easily  discouraged 
him  from  writing  others.  Now,  for  my  sake,  hear  with  un- 
biased minds  what  it  is  I ask.  I again  bring  before  you  the 
Hecyra,  which  I have  never  been  allowed  to  act  before  you  in 
silence;  such  misfortunes  have  so  overwhelmed  it.  These 
misfortunes  your  intelligence  will  allay,  if  it  is  a seconder  of 
our  exertions.  The  first  time,  when  I began  to  act  this  Play, 
the  vauntings  of  boxers,^  the  expectation  of  a rope-dancer,^ 
added  to  which,  the  throng  of  followers,  the  noise,  the  clamor 
of  the  women,  caused  me  to  retire  from  your  presence  before 
the  time.  In  this  new  Play,  I attempted  to  follow  the  old 
custom  of  minef  of  making  a fresh  trial ; I brought  it  on 
again.  In  the  first  Act  I pleased ; when  in  the  mean  time  a 
rumor  spread  that  gladiators  were  about  to  be  exhibited ; the 
populace  flock  together,  make  a tumult,  clamor  aloud,  and 
fight  for  their  places  meantime,  I was  unable  to  maintain 
my  place.  Now  there  is  no  confusion  : there  is  attention  and 
silence — an  opportunity  of  acting  my  Play  has  been  granted 
me ; to  yourselves  is  given  the  power  of  gracing  the  scenic 
festival.'*'  Do  not  permit,  through  your  agency,  the  dramatic 

^ Vauntings  of  boxers) — Ver.  33.  Horace  probably  had  this  passa;>*e 
in  his  mind  when  he  penned  the  First  Epistle  in  his  Second  Book,  1.  185  ; 
where  he  mentions  the  populace  leaving  a Flay  in  the  midst  for  the 
sight  of  a bear,  or  an  exhibition  of  boxers.. 

^ Of  a 7'ope-dancer) — Ver.  34.  The  art  of  dancing  on  the  tight  rope 
was  carried  to  great  perfection  among  the  ancients.  Many  paintings 
have  been  discovered,  which  show  the  numerous  attitudes  which  the 
performers  assumed.  The  figures  have  their  heads  enveloped  in  skins 
or  caps,  probably  intended  as  a protection  in  case  of  falling.  At  the 
conclusion  of  the  performance  the  dancer  ran  down  the  rope.  Ger- 
manicus  and  Galba  are  said  to  have  exhibited  elephants  dancing  on  the 
tight  rope. 

^ The  old  custom  of  mine) — Ver.  38.  He  says  that  on  the  second  rep- 
resentation he  followed  the  plan  which  he  had  formerly  adopted  in  the 
Plays  of  Csecilius,  of  bringing  those  forward  again  which  had  not  given 
satisfaction  at  first. 

^ Fight  for  their  places) — Ver.  41.  This  was  in  consequence  of  their 
sitting  indiscriminately  at  the  Amphitheatre,  where  the  gladiators  were 
exhibited  ; whereas  at  the  Theatres  there  were  distinct  places  appropri- 
ated to  each  “ordo”  or  class. 

^ Gracing  the  scenic  festival) — Ver.  45.  Madame  Dacier  remarks  that 
there  is  great  force  and  eloquence  in  the  Actor’s  affecting  a concern  for 
the  sacred  festivals,  which  were  in  danger  of  being  deprived  of  their 


260 


HECYRA ; 


[Act  I. 


art  to  sink  into  the  hands  of  a few ; let  your  authority  prove 
a seconder  and  assistant  to  my  own.  If  I have  never  covet- 
ously set  a price  upon  my  skill,  and  have  come  to  this  conclu- 
sion, that  it  is  tlie  greatest  gain  in  the  highest  possible  degree 
to  contribute  to  your  entertainment;  allow  me  to  obtain  this 
of  you,  that  him  who  has  intrusted  his  labors  to  my  protec- 
tion, and  himself  to  your  integrity, — that  him,  I say^  the  mali- 
cious may  not  maliciously  deride,  beset  hy  them  on  every  side. 
For  my  sake,  admit  of  this  plea,  and  attend  in  silence,  that 
he  may  be  encouraged  to  write  other  Plays^  and  that  it  may 
be  for  my  advantage  to  study  new  ones  hereafter,  purchased 
at  my  own  expense.^ 


ACT  THE  FIliST. 

Scene  I. 

t 

Eater  Piiilotis-  and  Syr  a. 

Phil.  I’  faith,  Syra,  you  can  find  but  very  few  lovers  who 
prove  constant  to  their  mistresses.  For  instance,  how  often 
did  this  Pamphilus  swear  to  Bacchis — how  solemnly,  so  that 


chief  ornaments,  if  by  too  great  a severity  they  discouraged  the  Poets 
who  undertook  to  furnish  the  Plays  during  the  solemnity. 

^ At  my  own  expense) — Ver.  57.  It  is  generally  supposed  that  “meo 
})retio”  means  “a  price  named  as  my  estimate;”  and  that  it  was  the 
custom  for  the  JEdiles  to  purchase  a Play  of  a Poet  at  a price  fixed  by 
the  head  of  the  company  of  actors.  It  is  also  thought  that  the  money 
^ras  paid  to  the  actor,  who  handed  over  the  whole,  or  a certain  part,  to 
the  Poet,  and  if  the  Play  was  not  received  with  favor,  the  ^Ediles  had 
the  right  to  ask  back  the  money  from  the  rtctor,  wlio  consequently  be- 
came a loser  by  the  transaction.  Parens  and  Meric  Casaubon  think, 
however,  that  in  case  of  this  Play,  the  ^diles  had  purchased  it  from 
the  Poet,  and  the  performers  had  bought  it  of  the  ^diles  as  a specula- 
tion. What  he  means  at  the  end  of  the  First  Prologue  by  selling  the 
Play  over  again,  is  not  exactly  known.  Perhaps  if  the  Play  had  been 
then  performed  throughout  and  received  with  no  favor,  he  would  have 
had  to  forfeit  the  money,  and  lose  all  right  to  any  future  pecuniary  in- 
terest in  it ; but  he  preferred  to  cancel  the  whole  transaction,  and  to 
reserve  the  Play  for  purchase  and  representation  at  a more  favorable 
period. 

^ Philotis) — This  is  a protatic  character,  or  one  that  helps  to  intro- 
duce the  subject  of  the  Play,  and  then  appears  no  more. 


Sc.  II.] 


THE  M OT 1 1 1:  R-  i N - L A’A' . 


2G1 


any  one  might  have  readily  believed  him — that  he  never  would 
take  home  a wife  so  long  as  she  lived.  Well  now,  he  is  mar- 
ried. 

Syr.  Therefore,  for  that  very  reason,  I earnestly  both  ad- 
vise and  entreat  you  to  take  pity  upon  no  one,  but  plunder, 
lieece,  and  rend  every  man  you  lay  hold  of. 

Phil.  AVhat ! Hold  no  one  exempt  1 

Syr.  No  one ; for  not  a single  one  of  them,  rest  assured, 
comes  to  you  without  making  up  his  mind,  by  means  of  his 
flatteries,  to  gratify  his  passion  with  you  at  the  least  possible 
expense.  AVill  you  not,  pray,  plot  against  them  in  return  ? 

Phil.  And  yet,  upon  my  faith,  it  is  unfair  to  be  the  same 
to  all. 

Syr.  What!  unfair  to  take  revenge  on  your  enemies'?  or, 
for  them. to  be  caught  in  the  very  way  they  try  to  catch  you? 
Alas  I wretched  me ! why  do  not  your  age  and  beauty  belong 
to  me,  or  else  these  sentiments  of  mine  to  you? 


Scene  II. 

Enter  Parmeno  fivni  the  house  of  Laches. 

Par.  {at  the  door,  speaking  to  Scirtus  within.)  If  the  old 
man  should  be  asking  for  me,  do  you  say  that  I have  just 
gone  to  the  harbor  to  inquire  about  the  arrival  of  Pam- 
philus.  Do  you  hear  what  I say,  Scirtus?  If  he  asks  for 
me,  then  you  are  to  say  so;  if  he  does  not,  ivhy,  say  nothing 
at  all ; so  that  at  another  time  I may  be  able  to  employ 
that  excuse  as  a new  one.  {Comes  forward,  and  looking 
around.) — But  is  it  my  dear  Philotis  that  I see?  How 
has  she  come  here"?  {Accosting  her.)  Philotis  lieartily  good- 
morrow. 

Phil.  O,  good-morrow,  Parmeno. 

Syr.  By  my  troth,  good-morrow,  Parmeno. 

Par.  P faith,  Syra,  the  same  to  you.  Philotis,  tell  me, 
where  have  you  been  enjoying  yourself  so  long  ? 

Phil.  For  my  part,  indeed,  I have  been  far  from  enjoying 
myself,  in  leaving  this  place  for  Corinth  with  a most  brutal 
captain ; for  two  whole  years,  there,  had  I to  put  up  with 
him  to  my  sorrow. 

Par.  r troth,  I fancy  that  regret  for  Athens  full  oft  pos- 


HECYRA; 


262 


[Act  I. 


sessed  you,  and  that  yOu  thought  but  poorly  of  your  fore- 
sight. 

Phil.  It  can  not  be  expressed  how  impatient  I was  to  re- 
turn hither,  get  rid  of  the  captain,  and  see  yourselves  here, 
that  after  our  old  fashion  1 might  at  my  ease  enjoy  the 
merry-makings  among  you  ; for  there  it  was  not  allowed  me 
to  speak,  except  at  the  moment  prescribed,  and  on  such  sub- 
jects as  he  chose. 

Far.  {sarcastically,)  I don’t  think  it  was  gallant  in  the  cap- 
tain to  place  a restraint  on  your  tongue. 

Phil.  But  what  is  this  piece  of  business  that  Bacchis  has 
just  now  been  telling  me  in-doors  here?  {pointing  to  her  house,) 
A thing  I never  supposed  would  come  to  pass,  that  he,  in  her 
lifetime,  could  possibly  prevail  upon  his  feelings  to  take  a 
wife. 

Par.  To  take,  indeed  I 

Phil.  Why,  look  you,  has  he  not  taken  one? 

Par.  He  has ; but  I doubt  whether  this  match  will  be  last- 
ing. 

Phil.  May  the  Gods  and  Goddesses  grant  it  so,  if  it  is  for 
the  advantage  of  Bacchis.  But  why  am  I to  believe  it  is  so? 
Tell  me,  Parmeno. 

Par.  There  is  no  need  for  its  being  spread  abroad ; ask  me 
no  more  about  it. 

Phil.  For  fear,  I suppose,  it  may  be  made  public.  So 
may  the  Gods  prosper  me,  1 do  not  ask  you  in  order  that  I 
may  spread  it  abroad,  but  that,  in  silence,  I may  rejoice  with- 
in myself. 

Par.  You’ll  never  speak  me  so  fairly,  that  I shall  trust  my 
back  to  your  discretion. 

Phil.  Oh,  don’t  say  so,  Parmeno as  though  you  were  not 
much  more  impatient  to  tell  me  this,  than  I to  learn  what  I’m 
inquiring  about. 

Par.  {to  himself,)  She  tells  the  truth  there ; and  that  is  my 
greatest  failing.  {To  Philotis.)  If  you  give  me  your  word 
that  you’ll  keep  it  a secret,  I’ll  tell  you. 

^ Don't  say  so,  Parmeno) — Ver.  109.  She  says  this  ironically,  at  the 
same  time  intimating  that  she  knows  Parmeno  too  well,  not  to  be  sure 
that  he  is  as  impatient  to  impart  the  secret  to  her  as  she  is  to  know  it. 
Donatus  remarks,  that  she  pretends  she  has  no  curiosity  to  hear  it,  that 
he  may  deem  her  the  more  wox'thy  to  be  intrusted  with  the  secret. 


Sc.  ri.] 


TflE  MO'niEK-IN-LAW. 


263 

Puir..  You  are  noiv  returning  to  your  natural  disposition. 
I give  3"0u  my  word ; say  on. 

Far.  Listen. 

^ Phil.  I’m  all  attention. 

Par.  Pamphilus  was  in  the  height  of  his  passion  for  Bac- 
chis  here,  when  his  father  began  to  importune  him  to  take  a 
wife,  and  to  urge  those  points  which  are  usual  with  all  fathers 
that  he  himself  was  noio  in  years,  and  that  he  was  his  only 
son,  that  he  wished  for  a support  for  his  declining  years.  Pic 
refused  at  first.  But  on  his  father  pressing  more  urgently,  he 
caused  him  to  become  wavering  in  his  mind,  whether  to  yield 
rather  to  duty  or  to  love.  By  hammering  on  and  teazino- 
him,  at  last  the  old  man  gained  his  point;  and  betrothed  him 
to  the  daughter  of  our  next-door  neighbor  here  (pointmg  to  the 
house  of  Phidippus).  This  did  not  seem  so  very  disac^reeable 
to  1 amphilus,  until  on  the  very  point  of  marriage,  when  he 
saw  that  all  was  ready,  and  that  no  respite  was  granted,  but 
marry  he  must;  then,  at  last,  he  took  it  so  much  to  heart, 
that  I do  believe  if  Bacchis  had  been  present,  even  she  would 
have  pitied  him.  Whenever  opportunity  was  afforded  for  ns 
being  alone,  so  that  he  could  converse  with  me,  he  used  to  say  • 

• ‘^larmeno,  I am  ruined!  What  have  I done!  Into  what 
misery  have  I plunged  myself!  Parmerio,  I shall  never  be 
able  to  endure  this.  To  my  misery,  I am  undone !” 

Phil,  {vehemently  exclaiming .)  May  the  Gods  and  Goddesses 
confound  you,  Laches,  for  vexing  him  so ! 

Par.  To  cut  the  matter  short,  he  took  home  his  wife.  On 
the  pst  night,  he  did  not  touch  the  girl ; the  night  that  follow- 
ed  that,  noj,  a bit  the  more. 

Phil.  What  is  it  you  tell  me"?  A young  man  go  to  bed 
with  a virgin,  intoxicated  to  boot,  and  able  to  restrain  him- 
sell  from  touching  her!  You  do  not  say  what’s  likely:  nor 
do  I believe  it  to  be  the  truth. 

Par.  I suppose  it  does  seem  so  to  you,  for  no  one  comes  to 
you  unless  he  is  eager  tor  you  ; hut  he  had  married  her  against 
his  will. 

Phil.  After  this,  what  followed? 

Par.  In  a very  few  days  after,  Pamphilus  took  me  aside, 
away  from  the  house,  and  told  me  how  that  the  young  woman 
was  still  untouched  by  him  ; and  how  that  before  he  had  taken 
her  Home  as  his  wife,  he  liad  hoped  to  be  able  to  endure  this 


264 


HECYRA ; 


[Act  I. 


marriage : “ But,  Parmeno,  as  I can  not  resolve  to  live  with 
her  any  longer,  it  is  neither  honorable  in  me,  nor  of  advantage 
to  the  young  woman  herself,  for  her  to  be  turned  to  ridicule, 
but  rather  I ought  to  return  her  to  her  relations  just  as  I re- 
ceived her.” 

Phil.  You  tell  me  of  a conscientious  and  virtuous  disposi- 
tion in  Pamphilus. 

Par.  For  me  to  declare  this,  I consider  to  be  inconvenient 
to  m.e,  but  for  her  to  be  sent  back  to  her  father  without  men- 
tioning any  blame,  would  be  insolent ; but  I am  in  hopes  that 
she,  when  she  is  sensible  that  she  can  not  live  with  me,  will 
go  at  last  of  her  own  accord,'^'" 

Phil.  What  did  he  do  in  the  mean  while  ? Used  he  to  visit 
Bacchis? 

Par.  Every  day.  But  as  usually  is  the  case,  after  she  saw 
that  he  belonged  to  another,  she  immediately  became  more 
ill-natured  and  more  peevish. 

Phil.  P faith,  that’s  not  to  be  wondered  at. 

Par.  And  this  circumstance  in  especial  contributed  to  es- 
trange him  from  her;  after  he  had  fairly  examined  himself, 
and  her,  and  the  one  that  was  at  home,  he  formed  a judg- 
ment, by  comparison,  upon  the  principles  of  them  both.  She, 
just  as  might  be  expected  from  a person  of  respectable  and 
free  birth,  chaste  arid  virtuous,  patient  under  the  slights  and 
all  the  insults  of  her  husband,  and  concealing  his  affronts. 
Upon  this,  his  mind,  partly  overcome  by  compassion  for  his 
wife,  partly  constrained  by  the  insolence  of  the  other,  was 
gradually  estranged  from  Bacchis,  and  transferred  its  affec- 
tions to  the  other,  after  having  found  a congenial  ylisposition. 
Ill  the  mean  time,  there  dies  at  Imbros^  an  old  man,  a rela- 
tive of  theirs.  His  property  there  devolved  on  them  by  law. 
Thither  his  father  drove  the  love-sick  Pamphilus,  much 
against  his  will.  He  left  his  wife  here  with  his  mother,  for 
the  old  man  has  retired  into  the  country ; he  seldom  comes 
into  the  city. 

Phil.  What  is  there  yet  in  this  marriage  to  prevent  its  be- 
ing lasting  % 

Par.  You  shall  hear  just  now.  At  first,  for  several  days, 
there  really  was  a good  understanding  between  them.  In  the 

^ Imhros) — Ycr.  171.  An  island  in  the  uiEMan  Sea,  off  the  coast  of 
Thrace. 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


265 


^ Sc.  II.] 

mean  time,  however,  in  a strange  way,  she  began  to  take  a 
dislike  to  Sostrata;  nor  yet  was  there  ever  any  quarrel  or 
words  between  them. 

Phil.  Wliat  then  1 

^ Fati.  If  at  any  time  she  came  to  converse  with  her,  she 
would  instantly  withdraw  from  her  presence,^  and  refuse  to 
see  her;  in  fine,  when  she  could  no  longer  endure  her,  she 
pretended  that  she  was  sent  for  by  her  mother  to  assist  at 
a sacrifice.  When  she  had  been  there  a few  days,  Sostrata 
ordered  her  to  be  fetched.  She  made  some,  I know  not  what, 
excuse.  Again  she  gave  similar  orders ; no  one  sent  back  any 
excuse.  After  she  had  sent  for  her  repeatedly,  they  pretended 
that  the  damsel  was  sick.  My  mistress  immediately  went  to 
see  her;  no  one  admitted  her.  On  the  old  man  coming  to 
know  of  this,  he  yesterday  came  up  from  the  country  on  pur- 
pose, and  v/aited  immediately  upon  the  father  of  Philumena. 
What  passed  between  them,  I do  not  know  as  yet ; but  really 
I do  feel  some  anxiety  in  what  way  this  is  to  end.  You  now 
have  the  whole  matter ; and  I shall  proceed  whither  I was  on 
my  way, 

Phil.  And  I too,  for  I made  an  appointment  with  a certain 
stranger^  to  meet  him. 

Par.  May  the  Gods  prosper  what  you  undertake ! 

Phil.  Farewell! 

Par.  And  a kind  farewell  to  you,  my  dear  Philotis. 

{Exeunt  severally. 

^ From  her  presence) — Ver.  182.  For  the  purpose,  as  will  afterward 
appear,  of  not  letting  Sostrata  see  that  she  was  pregnant. 

^ With  a certain  stranger) — Ver.  195.  Here  Philotis  gives  a reason, 
as  Donatus  observes,  why  she  does  not  again  appear  in  the  Play.  The 
following  is  an  extract  from  Colman’s  remarks  on  this  passage : “ It 
were  to  be  wished,  for  the  sake  of  the  credit  of  our  author’s  acknowl- 
edged art  in  the  Drama,  that  Philotis  had  assigned  as  good  a reason  for 
her  appearing  at  all.  Eugraphius  justly  says  : ‘ The  Courtesan  in  this 
Scene  is  a character  quite  foreign  to  the  fable.’  Donatus  also  says  much 
the  same  thing  in  his  Preface,  and  in  his  first  Note  to  this  Comedy ; 
but  adds  that  ‘ Terence  chose  this  method  rather  than  to  relate  the  ar- 
gument by  means  of  a Prologue,  or  to  introduce  a God  speaking  from  a 
machine.  I will  venture  to  say  that  the  Poet  might  have  taken  a much 
shorter  and  easier  method  than  either;  I mean,  to  have  begun  the  Play 
with  the  very  Scene  which  now  opens  the  Second  Act,’  ” 


M 


26G 


HECYRA ; 


[Act  II.  I 


ACT  THE  SECOND. 

SCE^’E  1.1 

Emter  Laches  and  Sostkata,  from  the  house  of  the  former. 

Each.  O faith  of  Gods  and  men ! what  a race  is  this  ! 
what  a conspiracy  this!  that  all  women  should  desire  and 
reject  every  individual  thing  alike ! And  not  a single  one 
can  you  find  to  swerve  in  any  respect  from  the  disposition  of 
the  rest.  For  instance,  quite  as  though  with  one  accord,  do  all 
mothers-in-law  hate  their  daughters-in-law.  Just  in  the  same 
way  is  it  their  system  to  oppose  their  husbands ; their  obsti- 
nacy here  is  the  same.  In  the  very  same  school  they  all  seem 
to  me  to  have  been  trained  up  to  perverseness.  Of  that  school, 
if  there  is  any  mistress,  I am  very  sure  that  she  {pointing  at 
Sostkata)  it  is. 

Sos.  Wretched  me  ! when  now  I don’t  so  much  as  know 
why  I am  accused! 

Each.  Eh ! you  don’t  know  ? 

Sos.  So  may  the  Gods  kindly  prosper  me.  Laches,  and  so 
may  it  be  allowed  us  to  pass  our  lives  together  in  unity ! 

Each,  {aside.)  May  the  Gods  avert  such  a misfortune ! 

Sos.  Tm  sure  that  before  long  you  will  be  sensible  that  I 
have  been  accused  by  you  undeservedly. 

Each.  You,  undeservedly  ? Can  any  thing  possibly  be 
said  that  you  deserve  in  return  for  this  conduct  of  yours? 

* Scene  /.) — Colman  has  the  following  observations  on  this  Scene  : 
“Donatiis  remarks  that  this  Scene  opens  the  intention  of  Terence  to 
oppose  the  generally-received  opinion,  and  to  draw  the  character  of  a 
good  step-mother.  It  would,  therefore,  as  has  been  already  observed, 
have  been  a very  proper  Scene  to  begin  the  Play,  as  it  carries  us  imme- 
diately into  the  midst  of  things ; and  we  can  not  fail  to  be  interested 
when  we  see  the  persons  acting  so  deeply  interested  themselves.  We 
gather  from  it  just  so  much  of  the  story  as  is  necessary  for  our  informa- 
tion at  first  setting  out.  We  are  told  of  the  abrupt  departure  of  Philu- 
mena,  and  are  witnesses  of  the  confusion  in  the  two  families  of  Laches 
and  Phidippns.  The  absence  of  Laches,  which  had  been  in  great  meas- 
ure the  occasion  of  this  misunderstanding,  is  also  very  artfully  men- 
tioned in  the  altercation  between  him  and  Sostrata.  The  character  of 
Laches  is  very  naturally  drawn.  He  has  a good  heart,  and  a testy  dis- 
position, and  the  poor  old  gentleman  is  kept  in  such  constant  perplexity 
that  he  has  perpetual  occasion  to  exert  both  those  qualities."’ 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


267 


J Sc.  I.] 

You,  who  are  disgracing  both  me  and  yourself  and  the  family, 
and  are  laying  up  sorrow  for  your  son.  Then  besides,  you 
are  making  our  connections  become,  from  friends,  enemies  to 
us,  who  have  thought  him  deserving  for  them  to  intrust  their 
^children^  to  him.  You  alone  have  put  yourself  forward,  by 
your  folly,  to  be  causing  this  disturbance. 

Sos.  What,  I ? 

Lach.  You,  woman,  I say,  who  take  me  to  be  a stone,  not 
a man.  Do  you  think  because  it’s  my  habit  to  be  so  much 
in  the  country,  that  I don’t  know  in  what  way  each  person  is 
passing  his  life  here?  I know  much  better  what  is  going  on 
here  than  there,  where  1 am  daily ; for  this  reason,  because, 
just  as  you  act  at  home,  I am  spoken  of  abroad.  Some  time 
since,  indeed,  I heard  that  Philumena  had  taken  a dislike  to 
you;  nor  did  I the  least  wonder  at  it;  indeed,  if  she  hadn’t 
done  so,  it  would  have  been  more  surprising.  But  I did  not 
suppose  that  she  would  have  gone  so  far  as  to  hate  even  the 
'whole  of  the  family ; if  I had  known  that,  she  should  have 
remained  here  in  preference,  and  you  should  have  gone  away. 
But  consider  how  undeservedly  these  vexations  arise  on  your 
account,  Sostrata;  I went  to  live  in  the  country,  in  compli- 
ance with  your  request,  and  to  look  after  my  affairs,  in  order 
that  my  circumstances  might  be  able  to  support  your  lavish- 
ness and  comforts,  not  sparing  my  own  exertions,  beyond 
what’s  reasonable  and  my  time  of  life  allows.  That  you 
should  take  no  care,  in  return  for  all  this,  that  there  should 
be  nothing  to  vex  me ! 

Sos.  Upon  my  word,  through  no  means  or  fault  of  mine 
has  this  taken  place. 

Lach.  Nay,  through  you  in  especial;  you  were  the  only 
person  here  ; on  you  alone,  Sostrata,  falls  all  the  blame.  You 
ought  to  have  taken  care  of  matters  here,  as  I had  released  you 
froni  other  anxieties.  Is  it  not  a disgrace  for  an  old  woman 
to  pick  a quarrel  with  a girl?  You  will  say  it  ■was  her  fault. 

Sos.  Indeed  I do  not  say  so,  my  dear  Laches. 

Lach.  I am  glad  of  that,  so  may  the  Gods  prosper  me,  for 
my  son’s  sake.  I am  quite  sure  of  this,  that  no  fault  of  yours 
can  possibly  put  you  in  a worse  light. 

Sos.  How  do  you  know,  my  husband,  whether  she  may  not 

their  children) — Ver.  212.  The  plural  liberos,”  children,  is 
ised  where  only  one  is  being  spoken  of,  siniilarly,  in  the  Heautonti- 
•n^rnmenos,  1.  151. 


have  pretended  to  dislike  me,  on  purpose  that  slie  might  be 
more  with  her  mother? 

Lach.  What  say  you  to  this?  Is  it  not  proof  sufficient, 
when  yesterday  no  one  was  willing  to  admit  you  into  the 
house,  when  you  went  to  see  her? 

Sos.  Why,  they  told  me  that  she  was  very  ill  just  then  ; 
for  that  reason  I was  not  admitted  to  her. 

Lach.  I fancy  that  your  humors  arc  more  her  malady  than 
any  thing  else ; and  with  good  reason  in  fact,  for  there  is  not 
one  of  you  but  wants  her  son  to  take  a wife ; and  the  match 
which  has  taken  your  fancy  must  be  the  one ; when,  at  your 
solicitation,  they  have  married,  then^  at  your  solicitation,  they 
are  to  put  them  away  again. 


Scene  II. 

Enter  PiiiDiprus  f rom  his  house. 

Phid.  {speaking  to  Philumena  ivithin.)  Although  I am 
aware,  Philumena,  that  I have  the  right  to  compel  you  to  do 
what  I order,  still,  being  swayed  by  the  feelings  of  a father,  I 
will  prevail  upon  myself  to  yield  to  you,  and  not  oppose  your 
inclination. 

Lacii.  And  look,  most  opportunely  I see  Phidippus;  I’ll 
presently  know  from  him  how  it  is.  {Accosting  him.)  Phidip- 
pus, although  I am  aware  that  I am  particularly  indulgent  to 
ail  my  family,  still  it  is  not  to  that  degree  to  let  my  good 
nature  corrupt  their  minds.  And  if  you  would  do  the  same, 
it  would  be  more  for  your  own  interest  and  ours.  At  present 
I see  that  you  are  under  the  control  of  those  ivomen. 

Phid.  Just  look  at  that,  now! 

Lach.  I waited  on  you  yesterday  about  your  daughter; 
you  sent  me  away  just  as  wise  as  I came.  It  does  not  become 
you,  if  you  wish  this  alliance  to  continue,  to  conceal  your 
resentment.  If  there  is  any  fault  on  our  side,  disclose  it; 
either  by  clearing  ourselves,  or  excusing  it,  we  shall  remedy 
these  matters  for  you,  yourself  the  judge.  But  if  this  is  the 
cause  of  detaining  her  at  your  house,  because  she  is  ill,  then 
I think  that  you  do  me  an  injustice,  Phidippus,  if  you  arc 
afraid  lest  she  should  not  be  attended  with  sufficient  care  at 
my  house.  But,  so  may  the  Gods  prosper  me,  I do  not  yield 
in  this  to  you,  although  you  are  her  father,  that  you  can  wish 
her  well  more  than  I do~  and  that  on  my  son’s  account,  wlio  I 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  .MOTHEIMN-LAW. 


269 


know  values  lier  not  less  Ihan  his  own  self.  Nor,  in  fact,  is 
it  unknown  to  you,  how  much,  as  I believe,  it  will  vex  him, 
if  he  comes  to  know’  of  this ; for  this  reason,  I wish  to  havo 
her  home  before  he  returns. 

PiiiD.  Laches,  I am  sensible  of  both  your  carefulness  and 
your  good-will,  and  I am  persuaded  that  all  you  say  is  just 
as  you  say : and  I v/ould  have  you  believe  me  in  this ; I am 
anxious  for  her  to  return  to  you,  if  I possibly  can  by  any 
means  effect  it. 

Lach.  What  is  it  prevents  you  from  effecting  it  ? Come, 
now,  does  she  make  any  complaint  against  her  husband  ? 

PiiiD.  By  no  means ; for  when  I urged  it  still  more  strongly, 
and  attempted  to  constrain  her  by  force  to  return,  she  solemn- 
ly protested  that  she  couldn’t  possibly  remain  with  you,  while 
Pampliilus  was  absent.  Probably  each  has  his  own  failing ; 
I am  naturally  of  an  indulgent  disposition  ; I can  not  thwart 
my  own  family. 

Lach.  (tuimi/aj  to  his  ivife^  ivho  stands  apart,')  Ila!  Sos- 
trata  !- 

Sos.  {sighing  deepjhj.)  Alas ! wretched  me ! 

Lach.  {to  Phidippus.)  Is  this  your  final  determination  ? 

PiiiD.  For  the  present,  at  least,  as  it  seems ; but  have  you 
any  thing  else  to  say  ? for  I have  some  business  that  obliges 
me  to  go  at  once  to  the  Forum. 

Lach.  I’ll  go  with  you.  {Exeunt 


Scene  III. 

SosTRATA  alone, 

Sos.  Upon  my  faith,  we  assuredly  are  all  of  us  hated  by 
our  husbands  with  equal  injustice,  on  account  of  a few,  who 

^ Tf  he  comes  to  know) — Ver.  2G2.  Donatus  observes  that  the  Poet 
shows  his  art  in  here  preparing  a reason  to  be  assigned  by  Pamphihis 
for  his  pretended  discontent  at  the  departure  of  his  wife. 

^ Ha!  Sostrata) — Ver.  271.  Colman  observes  on  this  passage : ‘‘This 
is  extremely  artful.  The  answer  of  Philumena,  as  related  by  Phidip- 
pus, contains  an  ample  vindication  of  Pamphilus.  What,  then,  can  we 
suppose  could  make  the  house  so  disagreeable  to  her  in  his  absence,  but 
the  behavior  of  Sostrata  ? She  declares  her  innocence ; yet  appear- 
ances are  all  against  her.  Supposing  this  to  be  the  first  Act  of  the  Play, 
it  would  be  impossible  for  a Comedy  to  oj)en  in  a more  interesting  man- 
ner.” 


270 


llECYKxV ; 


[Act  III. 


cause  us  all  to  appear  deserving  of  harsh  treatment.  For,  so 
may  the  Gods  prosper  me,  as  to  what  my  husband  accuses  me 
of,  I am  quite  guiltless.  But  it  is  not  so  easy  to  clear  myself, 
so  strongly  have  people  come  to  the  conclusion  that  all  step- 
mothers are  harsh  : i’  faith,  not  I,  indeed,  for  I never  regarded 
her  otherwise  than  if  she  had  been  my  own  daughter ; nor  can 
I conceive  how  this  has  befallen  me.  But  really,  for  many 
reasons,  I long  for  my  son’s  return  home  with  impatience. 
{Goes  into  her  house.) 


ACT  THE  THIRD. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Pamphilus  and  Parmeno. 

Pam.  No  individual,  I do  believe,  ever  met  with  more  cross- 
es in  love  than  I.  Alas!  unhappy  me!  that  I have  thus  been 
sparing  of  life ! Was  it  for  this  I was  so  very  impatient  to 
return  home  ? O,  how  much  more  preferable  had  it  been  for 
me  to  pass  my  life  any  w^here  in  the  world  than  to  return 
here  and  be  sensible  that  I am  thus  wretched!  For  all  of  us 
know  who  have  met  with  trouble  from  any  cause,  that  all  the 
time  that  passes  before  we  come  to  the  knowledge  of  it,  is  so 
much  gain. 

Par.  Still,  as  it  is,  you’ll  the  sooner  know  how  to  extricate 
yourself  from  these  misfortunes.  If  you  had  not  returned,  this 
breach  might  have  become  much  wider ; but  now,  Pamphilus, 
I am  sure  that  both  will  be  awed  by  your  presence.  You  will 
learn  the  facts,  remove  their  enmity,  restore  them  to  good 
feeling  once  again.  These  are  but  trifles  which  you  have  per- 
suaded yourself  are  so  grievous. 

Pam.  Why  comfort  me?  Is  there  a person  in  all  the 
w^orld  so  wretched  as  I?  Before  I took  her  to  wife,  I had 
my  heart  engaged  by  other  affections.  Now,  though  on 
this  subject  I should  be  silent,  it  is  easy  for  any  one  to 
know  how  much  I have  suffered  ; yet  I never  dared  refuse 
her  whom  my  father  forced  upon  me.  With  difficulty  did  I 
withdraw  myself  from  another,  and  disengage  my  affections 
so  firmly  rooted  there ! and  hardly  had  I fixed  them  in  an- 
other quarter,  wffien,  lo  ! a new  misfortune  has  arisen,  wliich 


Sc.  I.] 


TUK  MOTIIEIMN-LAW. 


271 


may  tear  me  from  her  too.  Then  besides,  I suppose  that  in 
this  matter  I shall  find  either  my  mother  or  my  wife  in  fault ; 
and  when  I find  such  to  be  the  fact,  what  remains  but  to  be- 
come still  more  wretched?  For  duty,  Parmeno,  bids  me 
bear  with  the  feelings  of  a mother ; then,  to  my  wife  I am 
bound  by  obligations ; with  so  much  temper  did  she  formerly 
bear  my  usage,  and  on  no  occasion  disclose  the  many  wrongs 
inflicted  on  her  by  me.  But,  Parmeno,  something  of  conse- 
quence, I know  not  what  it  is,  must  have  happened  for  this 
misunderstanding  to  have  arisen  between  them,  that  has  lasted 
so  long. 

Par.  Or  else  something  frivolous,  i’  faith,  if  you  would  only 
give  words  their  proper  valuQ^;  those  which  are  sometimes  the 
greatest  enmities,  do  not  argue  the  greatest  injuries;  for  it 
often  happens  that  in  certain  circumstances,  in  which  another 
would  not  even  be  out  of  temper,  for  the  very  same  reason  a 
passionate  man  becomes  your  greatest  enemy.  What  enmities 
do  children  entertain  among  themselves  for  trifling  injuries ! 
For  what  reason?  Why,  because  they  have  a weak  under- 
standing to  direct-  them.  Just  so  are  these  women,  almost 
Jike  children  with  their  fickle  feelings ; perhaps  a single  word 
has  occasioned  this  enmity  between  them,  master. 

Pam.  Go,  Parmeno,  into  the  house,  and  carry  word-  that  I 
have  arrived. 

(A  noise  is  heard  in  the  house  of  Phidippus.) 

Par.  {starting,)  Ha ! What  means  this  ? 

Pam.  Be  silent,  I perceive  a bustling  about,  and  a run- 
ning to  and  fro. 

Par.  {going  to  the  door,)  Come  then,  I’ll  approach  nearer 
to  the  door.  {lie  listens.)  Pla  ! did  you  hear? 

Pam.  Don’t  be  prating.  {He  listens.)  O Jupiter,  I heard  a 
shriek ! 

Par.  You  yourself  are  talking,  while  you  forbid  me. 

Myr.  {within  the  house.)  Prithee,  my  child,  do  be  silent. 

Pam.  That  seems  to  be  the  voice  of  Philumeria’s  mother. 
I’m  undone ! 

Par.  Why  so? 

Pam.  Utterly  ruined ! 

* And  carry  word) — Ver.  314.  It  was  the  custom  with  the  Greeks  and 
Romans,  when  returning  from  abroad,  to  send  a messenger  before  them, 
to  inform  their  wives  of  their  arrival. 


272 


llECYRA; 


[Act  III. 


Par.  For  what  reason*? 

Pam.  Parmeno,  you  are  concealing  from  me  some  great 
misfortune  to  me  unknown. 

Par.  They  said  that  your  wife,  Philumena,  was  in  alarm 
about^  something,  I know  not  what ; whether  that  may  be  it, 
perchance,  I don’t  know. 

Pam.  I am  undone ! Why  didn’t  you  tell  me  of  this  ? 

Par.  Because  I couldn’t  tell  every  thing  at  once. 

Pam.  What  is  the  malady  ? 

Par.  I don’t  know. 

Pam.  What ! has  no  one  brought  a physician  to  see  her  ? 

Par.  I don’t  know. 

Pam.  Why  delay  going  in-doors,  that  I may  know  as  soon 
as  possible  for  certain  what  it  is?  In  what  condition,  Phi- 
iumena,  am  I now  to  find  you?  But  if  you  are  in  any  peril, 
beyond  a doubt  I wdll  perish  with  you.  {Goes  into  the  house 
of  PlIIDIPPUS.) 

Scene  II. 

Parmeno  alone. 

Par.  {to  himself)  Tliere  is  no  need  for  me  to  follow  him 
into  the  house  at  present,  for  I see  that  we  are  all  disagree- 
able to  them.  Yesterday,  no  one  would  give  Sostrata  ad- 
mittance. If,  perchance,  the  malady  should  become  worse, 
which  really  I could  far  from  wish,  for  my  master’s  sake 
especially,  they  would  at  once  say  that  Sostrata’s  servant  had 
been  in  there;  they  would  invent  a story  that  I had  brought 
some  mischief  against  their  lives  and  persons,  in  consequence 
of  which  the  malady  had  been  increased.  My  mistress  would 
be  blamed,  and  I should  incur  heavy  punishment.^ 

' Was  in  alarm  about) — Yer.  321.  ‘‘Pavitare.”  Casaubon  has  a curi- 
ous suggestion  here  ; he  thinks  it  not  improbable  that  he  had  heard  the 
female  servants  whispering  among  themselves  that  Philumena  “pari- 
tare,”  “was  about  to  be  brought  to  bed,”  which  he  took  for  “pavitare,” 
“ was  in  fear”  of  something. 

^ Heavy  punishment) — Ver.  335.  Probably  meaning  that  he  will  be 
examined  by  torture,  whether  he  has  not,  by  drugs  or  other  means,  con- 
tributed to  Philumena’s  illness. 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


273 


Scene  III. 

Enter  Sostrata. 

Sos.  {to  herself-)  In  dreadful  alarm,  I have  for  some  time 
heard,  I know  not  what  confusion  going  on  here  ; I’m  sadly 
afraid  Philumena’s  illness  is  getting  worse,  -^sculapius,  I do 
entreat  thee,  and  thee,  Health,^  that  it  may  not  be  so.  Now 
I’ll  go  visit  her.  {Approaches  the  door.) 

Par.  {coming  forward.)  Hark  you,  Sostrata. 

Sos.  {turning  round.)  Well. 

Par.  You  will  again  be  shut  out  there. 

Sos.  What,  Parmeno,  is  it  you  ? I’m  undone!  wretch  that 
I am,  what  shall  I do  % Am  I not  to  go  see  the  wife  of  Pam- 
philus,  when  she  is  ill  here  next  door? 

Par.  Not  go  see  her  I Don’t  even  send  any  person  for  the 
purpose  of  seeing  her ; for  I’m  of  opinion  that  he  who  loves  a 
person  to  whom  he  is  an  object  of  dislike,  commits  a double 
mistake : he  himself  takes  a useless  trouble,  and  causes  annoy- 
ance to  the  other.  Besides,  your  son  went  in  to  see  how  she 
is,  as  soon  as  he  arrived. 

Sos.  What  is  it  you  say?  Has  Pamphilus  arrived? 

Par.  He  has. 

Sos.  I give  thanks  unto  the  Gods!  Well,  through  that 
news  my  spirits  are  revived,  and  anxiety  has  departed  from 
my  heart. 

Par.  For  this  reason,  then,  I am  especially  unwilling  you 
should  go  in  there ; for  if  Philumena’s  malady  at  all  abates, 
she  will,  I am  sure,  when  they  are  by  themselves,  at  once  tell 
him  all  the  circumstances  ; both  what  misunderstandings  have 
arisen  between  you,  arid  how  the  difference  first  began.  But 
see,  he^s  coming  out — how  sad  he  looks! 

^ And  thee^  Health) — Yer.  338.  She  invokes  ^sciilapius,  the  God  of 
Medicine,  and  “Saliis,”  or  “Health,”  because,  in  Greece,  their  statues 
were  always  placed  near  each  other ; so  that  to  have  offered  prayers  to 
one  and  not  to  the  other,  would  have  been  deemed  a high  indignity. 
On  the  worship  of  -^sculapius,  see  the  opening  Scene  of  the  Curculio 
of  Plautus. 


M 2 


274 


HECViJA  ; 


[Act  III. 


Scene  IV. 

Re-enter  Pamphilus,  f rom  the  house  of  Phidippus. 

Sos.  {running  up  to  him.)  O my  son  I {Embraces  him.) 

Pam.  My  mother,  blessings  on  you. 

Sos.  I rejoice  that  you  are  returned  safe.  Is  Philumena 
in  a fair  way  ? 

Pam.  She  is  a little  better.  ( Weeping.) 

Sos.  W ould  that  the  Gods  may  grant  it  so ! Why,  then, 
do  you  weep,  or  why  so  dejected? 

Pam.  All’s  well,  mother. 

Sos.  What  meant  that  confusion  ? Tell  me ; was  she  sud- 
denly taken  ill  ? 

Pam.  Such  was  the  fact. 

Sos.  What  is  her  malady  ? 

Pam.  a fever. 

Sos.  An  intermitting  one?^ 

Pam.  So  they  say.  Go  in  the  house,  please,  mother;  I’ll 
follow  you  immediately. 

Sos.  Very  well.  {Goes  into  her  house.) 

Pam.  Do  you  run  and  meet  the  servants,  Parmeno,  and 
help  them  with  the  baggage. 

Par.  Why,  don’t  they  know  the  'way  themselves  to  come 
to  our  house? 

Pam.  {stamping.)  Do  you  loiter?  Parmeno. 

Scene  V. 

Pamphilus,  alone. 

Pam.  I can  not  discover  any  fitting  commencement  of  my 
troubles,  at  which  to  begin  to  narrate  the  things  that  have 
so  unexpectedly  befallen  me,  some  of  which  with  these  eyes 
I have  beheld ; some  I have  heard  with  my  ears  ; and  on 
account  of  which  I so  hastily  betook  myself,  in  extreme 
agitation,  out  of  doors.  For  just  now,  when,  full  of  alarm,  I 
rushed  into  the  house,  expecting  to  find  my  wife  afflicted 
with  some  other  malady  than  what  I have  found  it  to  be ; — 
ah  me  ! immediately  the  servant-maids  beheld  that  I had 
‘ An  intermitting  one) — Ver.  357.  “ Quotidiaua  literally,  “daily.” 


Sc.  V.] 


THE  MOTHEIMN-LAW. 


arrived,  they  all  at  the  same  moment  joyfully  exclaimed, 

He  is  come,”  from  having  so  suddenly  caught  sight  of  me. 
But  I soon  perceived  the  countenances  of  all  of  them  change,^ 
because  at  so  unseasonable  a juncture  chance  had  brought 
me  there.  One  of  them  in  the  mean  time  hastily  ran  before 
me  to  give  notice  that  I had  come.  Impatient  to  see  my 
wife,  I followed  close.  When  I entered  the  room,  that  in- 
stant, to  my  sorrow,  I found  out  her  malady ; for  neither  did 
the  time  afford  any  interval  to  enable  her  to  conceal  it,  nor 
could  she  complain  in  any  other  accents  than  those  which  the 
case  itself  prompted.  When  I perceived  this : “ O disgraceful 
conduct!”  I exclaimed,  and  instantly  hurried  away  from  the 
spot  in  tears,  overwhelmed  by  such  an  incredible  and  shock- 
ing circumstance.  Pier  mother  followed  me  ; just  as  I got  to 
the  threshold,  she  threw  herself  on  her  knees : I felt  compas- 
sion for  her.  Assuredly  it  is  the  fact,  in  my  opinion,  just  as 
matters  befall  us  all,  so  are  we  elated  or  depressed.  At  once 
she  began  to  address  me  in  these  words : ‘‘  O my  dear  Pam- 
philus,  you  see  the  reason  why  she  left  your  house ; for  vio- 
lence was  offered  to  her  when  formerly  a maid,  by  some 
villain  to  us  unknown.  Now,  she  took  refuge  here  then,  that 
from  you  and  others  she  might  conceal  her  labor.”  But 
when  I call  to  mind  her  entreaties,  I can  not,  wretched  as  I 
am,  refrain  from  tears.  ‘‘  Whatever  chance  or  fortune  it  is,” 
said  she,  ‘‘  which  has  brought  you  here  to-day,  by  it  we  do 
both  conjure  you,  if  with  equity  and  justice  we  may,  that  her 
misfortune  may  be  concealed  by  you,  and  kept  a secret,  from 
all.  If  ever  you  were  sensible,  my  dear  Pamphilus,  that  she 
was  tenderly  disposed  toward  you,  she  now  asks  you  to  grant 
her  this  favor  in  return,  without  making  any  difficulty  of  it. 
But  as  to  taking  her  back,  act  quite  according  to  your  own 
convenience.  You  alone  are  aware  of  her  lying-in,  and  that 
the  child  is  none  of  yours.  For  it  is  said  that  it  was  two 
months  after  the  marriage  before  she  had  commerce  with 
you.  And  then,  this  is  but  the  seventh  month  since  she 
came  to  you.^  That  you  are  sensible  of  this,  the  circum- 
stances themselves  prove.  Now,  if  it  is  possible,  Pamphilus, 

'■  All  of  them  change') — Ver.  369.  This  must  have  been  imaginary,  as 
they  were  not  likely  to  be  acquainted  with  the  reason  of  Thilumena’s 
apprehensions. 

^ Since  she  came  to  you) — Ver.  394.  There  is  great  doubt  what  is  the 


27G 


m:CYRA  ; 


[Act  III. 


I especially  wish,  and  will  use  my  endeavors,  that  her  labor 
may  remain  unknown  to  her  father,  and  to  all,  in  fact.  But 
if  that  can  not  be  managed,  and  they  do  find  it  out,  I wdll 
say  that  she  miscarried ; I am  sure  no  one  will  suspect  other- 
wise than,  what  is  so  likely,  the  child  was  by  you.  It  shall 
be  instantly  exposed ; in  that  case  there  is  no  inconvenience 
whatever  to  yourself,  and  you  will  be  concealing  an  outrage 
so  undeservingly  committed  upon  her,^  poor  thing!”  I prom- 
ised and  I am  resolved  to  keep  faith  in  what  I said.  But 
as  to  taking  her  back,  really  I do  not  think  that  would  be  at 
all  creditable,  nor  will  1 do  so,  although  love  for  her,  and 
habit,  have  a strong  influence  upon  me.  I weep  when  it 
occurs  to  my  mind,  what  must  be  her  life,  and  how  great  her 
loneliness  in  future.  O Fortune,  thou  hast  never  been  found 
constant ! But  by  this  time  mij  former  passion  has  taught 
me  experience  in  the  present  case.  The  means  by  which  I 
got  rid  of  that,  I must  employ  on  the  present  occasion.  Par- 
meno  is  coming  with  the  servants ; it  is  far  from  convenient 
that  he  should  be  here  under  present  circumstances,  for  he 
was  the  only  person  to  whom  I trusted  the  secret  that  I kept 
aloof  from  her.  when  I first  married  her.  I am  afraid  lest,  if 
he  should  frequently  hear  her  cries,  he  might  find  out  that  she 
is  in  labor.  He  must  be  dispatched  by  me  somewhere  till 
Philumena  is  dvclivered. 

exact  meaning  of  “ postquain  ad  te  venit,”  here, — whether  it  means,  ‘‘  it 
is  now  the  seventh  month  since  she  became  your  wife,”  or,  “it  is  now 
the  seventh  month  since  she  came  to  your  embraces,”  which  did  not 
liappen  for  tw^o  months  after  the  marriage.  The  former  is,  under  the 
circumstances,  the  most  probable  construction. 

^ Committed  upon  her^ — Ver.  401.  Colman  very  justly  observes  here: 
“It  is  rather  extraordinary  that  Myrrhina’s  account  of  the  injury  done 
to  her  daughter  should  not  put  Pamphilus  in  mind  of  his  own  adven- 
ture, ■which  comes  out  in  the  Fifth  Act.  It  is  certain  that  had  the  Poet 
let  the  Audience  into  that  secret  in  this  place,  they  would  have  imme- 
diately concluded  that  the  wife  of  Pamphilus  and  the  lady  whom  he 
had  ravished  were  one  and  the  same  person.”  Playwrights  have  never, 
in  any  age  or  country,  troubled  themselves  much  about  probability  in 
their  plots.  Besides,  his  adventure  with  Philumena  was  by  no  means 
an  uncommon  one.  We  find  similar  instances  mentioned  by  Plautus ; 
and  violence  and  debauchery  seem  almost  to  have  reigned  paramount 
in  the  streets  at  night. 


Sc.  VL] 


THE  MOTIIER-IN-LAW. 


277 


Scene  VI. 

Enter  at  a distance  Parmeno  and  Sosia,  with  people 
carrying  baggage^ 

Par.  {to  Sosia.)  Do  you  say  that  this  voyage  was  disagree- 
able to  you  % 

Sosia.  Upon  my  faith,  Parmeno,  it  can  not  be  so  much  as 
expressed  in  words,  how  disagreeable  it  is  to  go  on  a voyage. 

Par.  Do  you  say  so  ? 

Sosia.  O lucky  man ! You  don't  know  what  evils  ^-ou 
liave  escaped,  by  never  having  been  at  sea.  For  to  say  noth- 
ing of  other  hardships,  mark  this  one  only ; thirty  days  or 
more^  was  I on  board  that  ship,  and  every  moment,  to  my 
horror,  was  in  continual  expectation  of  death  : such  unfavor- 
able weather  did  we  always  meet  with. 

Par.  How  annoying ! 

Sosia.  That’s  not  unknown  to  me : in  fine,  upon  my  faith, 
I would  rather  run  away  than  go  back,  if  I knew  that  I should 
have  to  go  back  there. 

Par.  Why  really,  but  slight  causes  formerly  made  you, 
Sosia,  do  what  now  you  are  threatening  to  do.  But  1 see 
Pamphilus  himself  standing  before  the  door.  {To  the  Attend- 
ants^ who  go  into  the  house  of  Laches.)  Go  in-doors  ; I’ll  accost 
him,  to  see  if  he  wants  any  thing  with  me.  {Accosts  Pamphi- 
Eus.)  What,  still  standing  here,  master*? 

Pam.  Yes,  and  waiting  for  you. 

Par.  What’s  the  matter  1 

Pam.  You  must  run  across  to  the  citadel.^ 

Par.  Who  must? 

Pam.  You. 

Par.  To  the  citadel  ? Why  thither  ? 

Pam.  To  meet  Callidemides,  my  entertainer  at  Myconos, 
who  came  over  in  the  same  ship  with  me. 

Par.  {aside,)  Confusion!  I should  say  he  has  made  a vow 

^ Thirty  days  or  more) — Yer.  421.  In  his  voyage  from  Imbros  to 
Athens,  namely,  which  certainly  appears  to  have  been  unusually  long. 

^ To  the  citadel) — Yer.  431.  This  was  the  fort  or  citadel  that  defended 
the  Piraeus,  and  being  three  miles  distant  from  the  city,  was  better  suit- 
ed for  the  design  of  Pamphilus,  whose  object  it  was  to  keep  Parmeno 
for  some  time  at  a distance. 


HECYIIA  ; 


278 


[Act  III. 


that  if  ever  he  should  return  home  safe,  lie  would  rupture  ine^ 
with  walking. 

Pam.  Why  are  you  lingering? 

Par.  What  do  you  wish  me  to  say '?  Or  am  I to  meet  him 
only? 

Pam.  No  ; say  that  I can  not  meet  him  to-day,  as  I ap- 
pointed, so  that  he  may  not  wait  for  me  to  no  purpose. 
Fly! 

Par.  But  I don’t  know  the  man’s  appearance. 

Pam.  Then  Pll  tell  you  how  to  know  it;  a huge  fellow^ 
ruddy,  with  curly  hair,  fat,  with  gray  eyes  and  freckled  coun- 
tenance. 

Par.  May  the  Gods  confound  him  I What  if  he  shouldn’t 
come  ? Am  I to  wait  there^  even  till  the  evening  ? 

Pam.  Yes,  wait  there.  Pun ! 

Par.  I can’t ; I am  so  tired.  {Exit  slowly. 


Scene  VII. 

Pamphiles,  alone, 

Pam.  He’s  off.  What  shall  I do  in  this  distressed  situa- 
tion ? Peally,  I don’t  know  in  what  way  I’m  to  conceal  this, 
as  Myrrhina  entreated  mo,  her  daughter’s  lying-in ; but  I do 
pity  the  woman.  What  I can.  I’ll  do ; only  so  long,  however, 
as  I observe  my  duty ; for  it  is  proper  that  I should  be  regard- 
ful of  a parent,^  rather  than  of  my  passion.  But  look — I see 
Phidippus  and  my  father.  They  are  coming  this  way ; what 
to  say  to  them,  I’m  at  a loss.  {Stands  apart) 

Scene  VIII. 

Enter j at  a distance,  Laches  and  Phidippus. 

Lach.  Did  you  not  say,  just  now,  that  she  was  waiting  for 
my  son’s  return  ? 

^ He  would  rupture  me) — Ver.  485.  He  facetiously  pretends  to  think 
that  Pamphilus  may,  during  a storm  at  sea,  have  vowed  to  walk  him  to 
death,  if  he  should  return  home. 

2 Regardful  of  a parent) — Ver.  448.  Colman  observes  here:  “This 
reflection  seems  to  be  rather  improper  in  this  place,  for  the  discovery  of 
Philumena  s labor  betrayed  to  Pamphilus  the  real  motive  of  her  depart- 
ure ; after  which  discovery  his  anxiety  proceeds  entirely  from  the  sup- 
posed injury  offered  him,  and  his  filial  piety  is  from  that  period  made 
use  of  merely  as  a pretense.” 


Sc.  Vlll.] 


THE  MOTHEK-L\-LAW. 


279 


Phid.  Just  so. 

Lack.  They  say  that  he  has  arrived ; let  her  return. 

Pam.  [apart  to  himself\  aloud.)  What  excuse  to  make  to  my 
father  for  not  taking  her  back,  I don’t  know! 

Lack,  (turning  round.)  Who  was  it  I heard  speaking 
here? 

Pam.  (apart.)  I am  resolved  to  persevere  in  the  course  I 
determined  to  pursue. 

Lach.  ’Tis  the  very  person  about  whom  I was  talking  to 
you. 

Pam.  Health  to  you,  my  father. 

Lac II.  Health  to  you,  my  son. 

Phid.  I am  glad  that  you  have  returned,  Pamphilus,  and 
the  mor(f  especially  so,  as  you  are  safe  and*  well. 

Pam.  I believe  you. 

Lach.  Have  you  but  just  arrived  ? 

Pam.  Only  just  now. 

Lach.  Tell  me,  what  has  our  cousin  Phania  left  us? 

Pam.  Why  really,  i’  faith,  he  was  a man  very  much  de- 
voted to  pleasure  while  he  lived  ; and  those  who  are  so,  don’t 
much  benefit  their  heirs,  but  for  themselves  leave  this  com- 
mendation : While  he  lived,  he  lived  well.^ 

Lach.  So  then,  you  have  brought  home  nothing  more^ 
than  a single  sentiment  ? 

Pam.  Whatever  he  has  left,  we  are  the  gainers  by  it. 

Lach.  Why  no,  it  has  proved  a loss  ; for  I could  have 
wished  him  alive  and  well. 

Phid.  You  may  wish  that  with  impunity  ; he’ll  never  come 
to  life  again  ; and  after  all  I know  which  of  the  two  you 
would  prefer. 

Lach.  Yesterdaj^,  he  (pointing  to  Piiidippus)  desired  Philu- 
mena  to  be  fetched  to  his  house.  (Whispers  to  Piiidippus, 
nudging  him  with  his  elbow.)  Say  that  you  desired  it. 

‘ He  lived  well) — Yer.  461.  This  is  living  well  in  the  sense  used  by 
the  “Friar  of  orders  gray.”  “Who  leads  a good  life  is  sure  to  live 
well.” 

^ Brought  home  nothing  more) — Ver.  462.  Colman  remarks  that  this 
passage  is  taken  notice  of  by  Donatus  as  a particularly  happy  stroke  of 
character;  and  indeed  the  idea  of  a covetous  old  man  gaping  for  a fat 
legacy,  and  having  his  mouth  stopped  by  a moral  precept,  is  truly 
comic. 


280  IIECYRA;  [Act  III. 

Phid.  {aside  to  Lachi:s.)  Don’t  punch  me  so.  {To  Pam- 
PHILUS.)  I desired  it. 

Lach.  But  he’ll  now  send  her  home  again. 

PiiiD.  Of  course. 

Pam.  I know  the  whole  affair,  and  how  it  happened;  I 
heard  it  just  now,  on  my  arrival. 

Lack.  Then  may  the  Gods  confound  those  spiteful  people 
who  told  this  news  with  such  readiness ! 

Pam.  {to  Phidippus.)  I am  sure  that  it  has  been  my  study, 
that  with  reason  no  slight  might  possibly  be  committed  by 
your  family ; and  if  I were  now  truthful  to  mention  of  how 
faithful,  loving,  and  tender  a disposition  I have  proved  toward 
lier,  I could  do  so  truly,  did  I not  rather  wish  that  you  should 
learn  it  of  herself ; •for  by  that  method  you  will  be  ttie  more 
ready  to  place  confidence  in  my  disposition  when  she,  who  is 
now  acting  unjustly  toward  me,  speaks  favorably  of  me. 
And  that  through  no  fault  of  mine  this  separation  has  taken 
place,  I call  the  Gods  to  witness.  But  since  she  considers 
that  it  is  not  befitting  her  to  give  way  to  my  mother,  and 
with  readiness  to  conform  to  her  temper,  and  as  on  no  other 
terms  it  is  possible  for  good  feeling  to  exist  between  them, 
either  my  mother  must  be  separated,  Phidippus,  from  me,  or 
else  Philumena.  Now  affection  urges  me  rather  to  consult 
my  mother’s  pleasure. 

Lach.  Pamphilus,  your  words  have  reached  my  ears  not 
otherwise  than  to  my  satisfaction,  since  I find  that  you  post- 
pone all  considerations  for  your  parent.  But  take  care,  Pam- 
philus, lest  impelled  by  resentment,  you  carry  matters  too  far. 

Pam.  How,  impelled  by  resentment,  could  I now  be  biased 
against  her  who  never  has  been  guilty  of  any  thing  toward 
me,  father,  that  I could  not  wish,  and  who  has  often  deserved 
as  well  as  I could  desire  ? I both  love  and  praise  and  exceed- 
ingly regret  her,  for  I have  found  by  experience  that  she  was 
of  a wondrously  engaging  disposition  with  regard  to  myself ; 
and  I sincerely  wish  that  she  may  spend  the  remainder  of  her 
life  with  a husband  who  may  prove  more  fortunate  than  me, 
since  necessity  thus  tears  her  from  me. 

Phid.  ’Tis  in  your  own  power  to  prevent  that. 

Lach.  If  you  are  in  your  senses,  order  her  to  come  back. 

Pam.  It  is  not  my  intention,  father ; I shall  study  my 
mother’s  interests.  {Going  aivay.) 


Sc.  X.] 


THE  MOTHEK-IN-LAW. 


281 


Lach.  Whither  are  you  going  ^ Stay,  stay,  I tell  you  ; 

'v'vhither  are  you  going  ? {Exit  Faiviphilus. 


Scene  IX. 

Laches  and  Phidippus. 

PiiiD.  What  obstinacy  is  this  ? 

Lacii.  Did  I not  tell  you,  Phidippus,  that  he  would  take 
this  matter  amiss?  It  was  for  that  reason  I entreated  you  to 
send  your  daughter  back. 

Phid.  Upon  my  faith,  I did  not  believe  he  would  be  so 
brutish  ; does  he  now  fancy  that  I shall  come  begging  to  him? 
If  so  it  is  that  he  chooses  to  take  back  his  wife,  why,  let  him ; 
if  he  is  of  another  mind,  let  him  pay  back  her  portion,^  and 
take  himself  off. 

Lach.  Just  look  at  that,  now  ; you  too  are  getting  obstinate 
and  huffish. 

Phid.  {speaking  with  anger.)  You  have  returned  to  us  in  a 
very  ungovernable  mood,  Pamphilus.  • 

Lach.  This  anger  will  depart ; although  he  has  some  rea- 
son for  being  vexed. 

Phid.  Because  you  have  had  a windfall,  a little  money, 
your  minds  are  elevated. 

Lach.  Are  you  going  to  fall  out  with  me,  too? 

Phid.  Let  him  consider,  and  bring  me  word  to-day,  whether 
he  will  or  will  not,  that  she  may  belong  to  another  if  she  does 
not  to  him.  {Goes  hastily  into  his  own  house.) 

Lach.  Phidippus,  stay ; listen  to  a few  words 


Scene  X. 

Laches,  alone. 

Lach.  He’s  off ; what  matters  it  to  me  ? In  fine,  let  them 
manage  it  between  themselves,  just  as  they  please;  since  neither 
my  son  nor  he  pay  any  regard  to  me ; they  care  but  little  for 
what  I say.  I’ll  carry  the  quarrel  to  my  wife,  by  whose  plan- 
ning all  these  things  have  been  brought  about,  and  against  her 
I will  vent  all  the  vexation  that  I feel. 

^ Pay  hack  her  portion) — Yer.  502.  As  was  universally  done  on  a sep- 
aration by  agreement. 


282 


HECYRA ; 


[Act  IV. 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 

Scene  1. 

Enter  Myerhina,  froin  her  house, 

My"Ii.  I am  undone  ! What  am  I to  do  ? which  way  turn 
myself  ? In  my  wretchedness,  what  answer  am  I to  give  to 
my  husband?  For  he  seems  to  have  heard  the  voice  of  the 
child  when  crying,  so  suddenly  did  he  rush  in  to  my  daughter 
without  saying  a word.  What  if  he  comes  to  know  that  she 
has  been  delivered?  for  what  reason  I am  to  say  I kept  it 
concealed,  upon  my  faith  I do  not  know.  But  there’s  a noise 
at  the  door;  I believe  it  is  himself  coming  out  to  me : I’m  ut- 
tevly  undone  ! 


Scene  H. 

Enter  Phidippus,  from  the  house. 

PiiiD.  {to  himself)  My  wdfe,  when  she  saw  me  going  to  my 
daughter,  betook  herself  out  of  the  house : and  look,  there 
she  is.  {Addressing  her.)  What  have  you  to  say,  Myrrhina  ? 
Hark  you ! to  you  I speak. 

Myr.  What,  to  me,  my  husband  ? 

PniD.  Am  I your  husband?  Do  you  consider  me  a hus- 
band, or  a man,  in  fact  ? For,  woman,  if  I had  ever  appeared 
to  you  to  be  either  of  these,  I should  not  in  this  w^ay  have 
been  held  in  derision  by  your  doings. 

Myr.  By  what  doings  ? 

Phid.  Do  you  ask  the  question?  Is  not  your  daughter 
brought  to  bed?  Eh,  are  you  silent?  By  whom? 

Myr.  Is  it  proper  for  a father  to  be  asking  such  a question? 
Oh,  shocking ! By  whom  do  you  think,  pray,  except  by  him 
to  whom  she  was  given  in  marriage  ? 

Phid.  I believe  it;  nor  indeed  is  it  for  ,a  father  to  think 
otherwise.  But  I wonder  much  what  the  reason  can  be  for 
which  you  so  very  much  wish  all  of  us  to  be  in  ignorance  of 
the  truth,  especially  when  she  has  been  delivered  properly, 
and  at  the  right  time.^  That  you  should  be  of  a mind  so  per- 

^ At  the  right  time) — Ver.  531.  Lemaire  observes  that,  from  this  pas- 
sage, it  would  appear  that  the  Greeks  considered  seven  months  suffi- 


Sc.  II.] 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


283 


verse  as  to  prefer  that  the  child  should  perish,  through  which 
you  might  be  sure  that  hereafter  there  would  be  a friendship 
more  lasting  between  us,  rather  than  that,  at  the  expense  of 
your  feelings,  his  wife  should  continue  with  him ! I supposed 
this  to  be  their  fault,  while  in  reality  it  lies  with  you. 

Myr.  I am  an  unhappy  creature  ! 

Phid.  I wish  I were  sure  that  so  it  was ; but  now  it  recurs 
to  my  mind  what  you  once  said  about  this  matter,  when  we 
accepted  him  as  our  son-in-law.  For  you  declared  that  you 
could  not  endure  your  daughter  to  be  married  to  a person 
who  was  attached  to  a courtesan,  and  who  spent  his  nights 
away  from  home. 

Myr.  {aside,)  Any  cause  whatever  I had  rather  he  should 
suspect  than  the  right  one. 

Phid.  I knew  much  sooner  than  you  did,  Myrrhina,  that 
he  kept  a mistress ; but  this  I never  considered  a crime  in 
young  men ; for  it  is  natural  to  them  all.  For,  i’  faith,  the 
time  will  soon  come  when  even  he  will  be  disgusted  with 
himself  ybr  doing  so.  But  just  as  you  formerly  showed  your- 
self, you  have  never  ceased  to  be  the  same  up  to  the  present 
time ; in  order  that  you  might  withdraw  your  daughter  from 
him,  and  that  what  I did  might  not  hold  good,  one  thing  it- 
self now  plainly  proves  how  far  you  wished  it  carried  out. 

Myr.  Do  you  suppose  that  I am  so  willful  that  I could 
have  entertained  such  feelings  toward  one  whose  mother  I 
am,  if  this  match  had  been  to  our  advantage  ? 

Phid.  Can  you  possibly  foresee  or  judge  what  is  to  our 
advantage?  You  have  heard  it  of  some  one,  perhaps,  who 
has  told  you  that  he  has  seen  him  coming  from  or  going  to 
his  mistress.  What  then?  If  he  has  done  so  with  discre- 
tion, and  but  occasionally,  is  it  not  more  kind  in  us  to  con- 
ceal our  knowledge  of  it,  than  to  do  our  best  to  be  aware  of 
it,  in  consequence  of  which  he  will  detest  us?  For  if  he 
could  all  at  once  have  withdrawn  himself  from  her  with  whom 
he  had  been  intimate  for  so  many  years,  I should  not  have 
deemed  him  a man,  or  likely  to  prove  a constant  husband  for 
our  daughter. 

cient  for  gestation.  So  it  would  appear,  if  we  are  to  take  the  time  of 
the  Play  to  be  seven,  and  not  nine,  months  after  the  marriage  ; and, 
as  before  observed,  the  former  seems  to  be  the  more  reasonable  con- 
clusion. 


284 


HECYKA ; 


[Act  IV. 


Myr.  Do  have  done  about  the  young  man,  I pray ; and 
what  you  say  I’ve  been  guilty  of.  Go  away,  iheet  him  by 
yourself;  ask  him  whether  he  wishes  to  have  her  as  a wife  or 
not;  if 50  it  is  that  he  should  say  ho  does  wish  it,  why,  send 
her  hack;  but  if  on  the  other  hand  he  does  not  Vv’ish  it,  I have 
taken  the  best  course  for  my  child. 

PiiiD.  And  suppose  he  does  not  wish  it,  and  you,  Myrrhina, 
knew  him  to  be  in  fault ; still  I was  at  hand,  by  whose  advice 
it  was  proper  for  these  matters  to  be  settled ; thereibre  I am 
greatly  offended  that  you  have  presumed  to  act  tlius  without 
my  leave.  I forbid  you  to  attempt  to  carry  the  child  any 
where  out  of  this  house.  But  I am  very  foolish  to  be  ex- 
pecting her  to  obey  my  orders.  I’ll  go  in-doors,  and  charge 
the  servants  to  allow  it  to  be  carried  out  nowhere.  {Goes  into 
the  house.) 


Scene  III. 

Myrrhina,  alone. 

Myr.  Upon  my  faith,  I do  believe  that  there  is  no  woman 
living  more  wretched  than  I ; for  how  he  would  take  it,  if  he 
came  to  know  the  real  state  of  the  case,  i’  faith,  is  not  un- 
known to  me,  when  he  bears  this,  which  is  of  less  conse- 
quence, with  such  angry  feelings;  and  I know  not  in  what 
way  his  sentiments  can  possibly  be  changed.  Out  of  very 
many  misfortunes,  this  one  evil  alone  had  been  wanting  to 
me,  for  him  to  compel  me  to  rear  a child  of  whom  we  know 
not  v/ho  is  the  father;  for  when  my  daughter  was  ravished, 
it  was  so  dark  that  his  person  could  not  be  distinguished,  nor 
was  any  thing  taken  from  him  on  the  occasion  by  which  it 
could  be  afterward  discovered  who  he  was.  He,  on  leaving 
her,  took  away  from  the  girl,  by  force,  a ring  whicld  she  had 
upon  her  finger.  I am  afraid,  too,  of  Pamphilus,  that  he  may 
be  unable  any  longer  to  conceal  what  I have  requested,  when 
he  learns  that  the  child  of  another  is  being  brought  up  as  his. 
{Goes  into  the  house.) 

^ A ring  which) — Ver.  574.  Colman  remarks  that  this  preparation 
for  the  catastrophe  by  the  mention  of  the  ring,  is  not  so  artful  as  might 
have  been  expected  from  Terence ; as  in  this  soliloquy  he  tells  the  cir- 
cumstances directly  to  the  Audience.  , 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


285 


Scene  IY. 

Enter  Sostrata  and  Pamphilus. 

Sos.  It  is  not  unknown  to  me,  ray  son,  that  I am  sus- 
pected by  you  as  the  cause  of  your  wife  having  left  our  house 
in  consequence  of  my  conduct;  although  you  carefully  con- 
ceal your  knowledge  of  it.  But  so  may  the  Gods  prosper  me, 
and  so  may  you  answer  all  my  hopes,  I have  never  knowing- 
ly deserved  that  hatred  of  me  should  with  reason  possess  her ; 
and  while  I thought  before  that  you  loved  me,  on  that  point 
you  have  confirmed  my  belief:  for  in-doors  your  father  has 
just  now  related  to  me  in  what  way  you  have  preferred  me 
to  your  passion.  Now  it  is  my  determination  to  return  you 
the  favor,  that  you  may  understand  that  with  me  lies  the  re- 
ward of  your  affection.  My  Pamphilus,  I think  that  this  is 
expedient  both  for  yourselves  and  my  OAvn  reputation.  I 
have  finally  resolved  to  retire  hence  into  the  country  with 
your  father,  that  my  presence  may  not  be  an  obstacle,  and 
that  no  pretense  may  remain  why  your  Philumena  should  not 
return  to  you. 

Pam.  Pray,  what  sort  of  resolution  is  this?  Driven  away 
by  her  folly,  would  you  be  removing  from  the  city  to  live  in 
the  country?  You  shall  not  do  so;  and  I will  not  permit, 
mother,  any  one  who  may  wish  to  censure  us,  to  say  that 
this  has  been  done  through  my  perverseness,  and  not  your  in- 
clination. Besides,  I do  not  wish  you,  for  my  sake,  to  forego 
your  friends  and  relations,  and  festive  days.^ 

Sos.  Upon  my  word,  these  things  afford  me  no  pleasure 
now.  While  my  time  of  life  permitted  it,  I enjoyed  them 
enough  ; satiety  of  that  mode  of  life  has  now  taken  possession 
of  me : this  is  at  present  my  chief  concern,  that  the  length 
of  my  life  may  prove  an  annoyance  to  no  one,  or  that  he  may 
look  forward  with  impatience  to  ray  death. “ Here  I see 
that,  without  deserving  it,  I am  disliked ; it  is  time  for  me  to 
retire.  Thus,  in  the  best  way,  I imagine,  I shall  cut  short 

^ And  festive  days) — Ver.  592.  “Festos  dies.”  The  days  for  sacri- 
ficing to  particular  Divinities,  when  she  would  have  the  opportunity  of 
meeting  her  friends,  and  making  herself  merry  with  them. 

^ Look  forward  with  impatience  to  my  death) — Ver.  596.  Colman 
says  : “ This  idea  of  tlic  long  life  of  a step-mother  being  odious  to  her 


HECYRA ; 


[Act  IV. 


28  G 

Jill  grounds  of  discontent  with  all;  I shall  both  free  myself 
from  suspicion,  and  shall  be  pleasing  them.  Pray,  let  me 
avoid  this  reproach,  which  so  generally  attaches  on  women  to 
their  disadvantage. 

Pam.  (aside,)  How  happy  am  I in  other  respects,  were  it 
not  for  this  one  thing  alone,  in  having  such  a good  mother, 
and  her  for  my  wife ! 

Sos.  Pray,  my  Pamphilus,  can  you  not,  seeing  how  each 
woman  is,  prevail  upon  yourself  to  put  up  with  one  matter 
of  inconvenience?  If  every  thing  else  is  according  to  your 
wish,  and  such  as  I take  it  to  be — my  son,  do  grant  me  this 
indulgence,  and  take  her  back. 

Pam.  Alas  ! wretched  me ! 

Sos.  And  me  as  well ; for  this  affair  does  not  cause  me  less 
sorrow  than  you,  my  son. 


Scene  V. 

Enter  Laches. 

Lach.  While  standing  just  by  here,  I have  heard,  wife,  the 
conversation  you  have  been  holding  with  him.  It  is  true 
wisdom  to  be  enabled  to  govern  the  feelings  whenever  there  is 
necessity ; to  do  at  the  present  moment  what  may  perhaps,  in 
the  end,  be  necessary  to  be  done. 

Sos.  Good  luck  to  it,  i’  troth. 

Lack.  Retire  then  into  the  country ; there  I will  bear 
with  you,  and  you  with  me. 

Sos.  I hope  so,  r faith. 

Lach.  Go  in-doors  then,  and  get  together  the  things  that 
are  to  be  taken  with  you.  I have  now  said  it. 

Sos.  I’ll  do  as  you  desire.  (Goes  into  the  house.) 

family,  is  applied  in  a very  beautiful  and  uncommon  manner  by  Shaks- 
peare : — 

“Now,  fair  Hippolyta,  our  nuptial  hour 
Draws  on  apace ; for  happy  days  bring  in 
Another  morn ; but  oh,  methinks  how  slow 
This  old  morn  \yanes  ! she  lingers  my  desires 
Like  to  a step-dame,  or  a dowager. 

Long  withering  out  a young  man’s  revenue.” 

Mi  lsuri'y^cr  Nighfs  Drea)n. 


Sc.  VL] 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


287 


Pam.  Father! 

Lach.  What  do  you  want,  Pamphilus  ? 

Pam.  My  mother  go  away  ? By  no  means. 

Lach.  Why  would  you  have  it  so? 

Pam.  Because  I am  as  yet  undetermined  what  I shall  do 
about  my  wife. 

Lach.  How  is  that  ? What  should  you  intend  to  do  but 
bring  her  home  ? 

Pam.  For  my  part,  I could  like,  and  can  hardly  forbear  it ; 
but  I shall  not  alter  my  design ; that  which  is  most  advanta- 
geous I shall  pursue ; I suppose  {ironically)  that  they  will  be 
better  reconciled,  in  consequence,  if  I shall  take  her  back. 

Lach.  You  can  not  tell.  But  it  matters  nothing  to  you 
which  they  do  when  she  has  gone  away.  Persons  of  this  age 
are  disliked  by  young  people ; it  is  right  for  us  to  withdraw 
from  the  world;  in  fine,  we  are  now  a nice  by-word.  We  are, 
Pamphilus,  ‘^the  old  man  and  the  old  woman.”  ^ But  I see 
Phidippus  coming  out  just  at  the  time ; let’s  accost  him. 

Scene  VI. 

Enter  Phidippus,  from  his  house. 

Phid.  {speaking  at  the  door  to  Phieumena,  within.)  Upon 
my  faith,  I am  angry  with  you  too,  Philumena,  extremely  so, 
for,  on  my  word,  you  have  acted  badly ; still  there  is  an  ex- 
cuse for  you  in  this  matter ; your  mother  forced  you  to  it ; 
but  for  her  there  is  none. 

Lach.  {accosting  him.)  Phidippus,  you  meet  me  at  a lucky 
moment,  just  at  the  very  time. 

Phid.  W^hat’s  the  matter? 

Pam.  {aside.)  What  answer  shall  I make  them,  or  in  what 
manner  keep  this  secret  ? 

^ The  old  man  and  the  old  woman) — Ver.  621.  “ Seiiex  atque  anus.” 
In  these  words  he  probably  refers  to  the  commencement  of  many  of  the 
stories  current  in  those  times,  which  began : ‘‘There  were  once  upon  a 
time  an  old  man  and  an  old  woman.”  Indeed,  almost  the  same  words 
occur  in  the  Stichus  of  Plautus,  1.  540,  at  the  commencement  of  a sto- 
ry: “Fuit  olim,  quasi  ego  sum,  senex,”  “There  was  upon  a time  an 
old  man,  just  like  me.” 


288 


HECYRA ; 


[Act  IV. 


Lach.  (to  Phidippus.)  Tell  your  daughter  that  Sostrata  is 
going  into  the  country,  that  the  may  not  now  be  afraid  of  re- 
turning home. 

PiiiD.  Alas ! your  wife  has  been  guilty  of  no  fault  in  this 
affair ; all  this  mischief  has  originated  in  my  wife  Myr- 
rhina. 

Pam.  (ctside.)  They  are  changing  sides. 

Phid.  ’Tis  she  that  causes  our  disturbances,  Laches. 

Pam.  {aside.)  So  long  as  I don’t  take  her  back,  let  her 
cause  as  much  disturbance  as  she  pleases. 

Phid.  I,  Pamphilus,  could  really  wish,  if  it  were  possible, 
this  alliance  between  us  to  be  lasting;  but  if  you  are  other- 
wise inclined,  still  take  the  child. ^ 

Pam.  {aside.)  He  has  discovered  that  she  has  been  brought 
to  bed.  Pm  undone ! 

Lacii.  The  child ! What  child  ? 

Phid,  We  have  had  a grandson  born  to  us;  for  my  daugh- 
ter was  removed  from  you  in  a state  of  pregnancy,  and  yet 
never  before  this  day  did  I know  that  she  was  pregnant. 

Lach.  So  may  the  Gods  prosper  me,  you  bring  good  ti- 
dings, and  I am  glad  a child  has  been  born,  and  that  she  is 
safe : but  wLat  kind  of  woman  have  you  for  a wife,  or  of  what 
Sort  of  a temper,  that  we  should  have  been  kept  in  ignorance 
of  this  so  long  ? I can  not  sufficiently  express  how  disgrace- 
ful this  conduct  appears  to  me. 

Phid.  This  conduct  does  not  vex  me  less  than  yourself, 
Laches. 

Pam.  (aside.)  Even  if  it  had  just  now  been  a matter  of 
doubt  to  me,  it  is  so  no  longer,  since  the  child  of  another  man 
is  to  accompany  her. 

Lach.  Pamphilus,  there  is  no  room  now  for  deliberation 
for  you  in  this  matter. 

Ta^.  {aside.)  Pm  undone! 

Lach.  {to  Pamphilus.)  We  were  often  longing  to  see  the 
day  on  which  there  should  be  one  to  call  you  father ; it  has 
come  to  pass.  I return  thanks  to  the  Gods. 

Pam.  {aside.)  I am  ruined  I 

Lach.  Take  home  your  wife,  and  don’t  oppose  my  will. 

^ Still  take  the  child) — Ver.  638.  In  cases  of  separation  it  was  cus- 
tomary for  the  father  to  have  the  care  of  the  male  children. 


Sc.  VI.] 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


280 


Pam.  Father,  if  she  liad  wished  to  liave  children  by  me 
or  to  continue  to  be  my  wife,  I am  quite  certain  she  would 
not  have  concealed  from  me  what  I find  she  has  concealed. 
Now,  as  I find  that  her  mind  is  estranged  from  me,  and  think 
that  there  would  be  no  agreement  between  us  in  future  why 
.should  I take  her  back  I ^ 

Lach.  The  young  woman  has  done  what  her  mother  per- 
suaded her.  Is  that  to  be  wondered  at?  Do  you  suppose 
you  can  find  any  woman  who  is  free  from  fault  ? Or  is  it 
that  men  have  no  failings  ? 

Phid  Do  you  yourselves  now  consider.  Laches,  and  you, 
I amphilus,  whether  it  is  most  advisable  for  you  to  leave  her 
or  take  her  back.  What  your  wife  may  do,  is  not  in  my 
control.  Under  neither  circumstance  will  you  meet  with 
any  difficulty  from  me.  But  what  are  we  to  do  with  the 

0 ill  Id  ? 

Lach.  You  do  ask  an  absurd  question ; whatever  happens, 
send  him  back  his  child  of  course,  that  we  may  bring  it  up  a.s 

Pam.  {m  a low  voice.)  A child  which  the  father  has  aban- 
doned, am  I to  rear  ? 

Lacii.  What  was  it  you  said  ? How— not  rear  it,  Pam- 
p luLis  . Irithee,  are  we  to  expose  it,  in  preference?  Wliat 
madness  is  this  ? Really,  I can  not  now  be  silent  any  lono-er. 
Tor  you  force  me  to  say  in  his  presence  {pointing  to  Pin- 
niprus)  what  I would  rather  not.  Do  you  suppose  I am  in 
Ignorance  of  the  came  of  your  tears,  or  what  it  is  on  account 
of  which  you  are  perplexed  to  this  degree?  In  the  first  place 
V len  j ou  alleged  as  a reason,  that,  on  account  of  your  moth- 
er, you  could  not  have  your  wife  at  home,  she  promised  that 
she  would  leave  the  house.  Now,  since  you  see  this  pretext 
as  well  taken  away  from  you,  because  a child  has  been  born 
without  your  knowledge,  you  have  got  another.  You  arc 
mi^staken  if  you  suppose  that  I am  ignorant  of  your  feelings. 

1 hat  at  last  you  might  prevail  upon  your  feelings  to  take  this 
step  how  long  a period  for  loving  a mistress  did  I allow  you  ! 

ith  what  patience  did  I bear  the  expense  you  were  at  in 
seeping  her ! I remonstrated  with  you  and  entreated  you  to 
a ^e  a wife.  I said  that  it  was  time : by  my  persuasion  you 
married.  What  you  then  did  in  obedience  to  me,  you  did  as 
became  you.  Now  again  you  have  set  your  fancy  upon  a 


290 


HECYRA; 


[Act  IV. 


mistress,  and,  to  gratify  her,  you  do  an  injury  to  the  other  as 
well.  For  I see  plainly  that  you  have  once  more  relapsed 
into  the  same  course  of  life. 

Pam.  What,  I? 

Lach.  Your  own  self,  and  you  act  unjustly  therein.  Y^ou 
feign  false  grounds  for  discord,  that  you  may  live  with  her 
when  you  have  got  rid  of  this  witness  of  your  actions ; your 
wife  has  perceived  it  too ; for  what  other  reason  had  she  for 
leaving  you  ? 

Phid.  (to  himself)  It’s  clear  he  guesses  right ; for  that  must 
be  it. 

Pam.  I will  give  you  my  oath  that  none  of  these  is  the 
reason. 

Lach.  Oh  take  home  your  wife,  or  tell  me  why  you  should 
not. 

Pam.  It  is  not  the  time  at  present. 

Lach.  Take  the  child,  for  surely  that  is  not  in  fault ; I will 
consider  about  the  mother  afterward. 

Pam.  (apart)  In  every  way  I am  wretched,  and  what  to 
do  I know  not ; with  so  many  troubles  is  my  father  now  be- 
setting wretched  me  on  every  side.  I’ll  go  away  from  here, 
since  I avail  but  little  by  my  presence.  For  without  my  con- 
sent, I do  not  believe  that  they  will*  bring  up  the  child,  espe- 
cially as  on  that  point  my  mother-in-law  will  second  me. 

(Exit  speedily. 


Scene  VII. 

Laches  and  Phidippus. 

Lach.  (to  Pamphilus.)  Do  you  run  away?  What,  and 
give  me  no  distinct  answer  ? (To  Phidippus.)  Does  he  seem 
to  you  to  be  in  his  senses  ? Let  him  alone.  Phidippus,  give 
me  the  child ; I’ll  bring  it  up. 

Phid.  By  all  means.  No  wonder  if  my  wife  has  taken 
this  amiss:  women  are  resentful;  they  do  not  easily  put  up 
with  such  things.  Hence  that  anger  of  hers,  for  she  herself 
told  me  of  it ; I would  not  mention  this  to  you  in  his  presence, 
and  at  first  I did  not  believe  her;  but  now  it  is  true  beyond 
a doubt ; for  I see  that  his  feelings  are  altogether  averse  to 
marriage. 


Sc.  VIIL] 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


Lach.  What  am  I to  do,  then,  Phidippus?  Wliat  a 
do  YOU  give  ? 

PniD.  What  are  you  to  do?  I am  of  opinion  that  first  we 
ought  to  go  to  this  mistress  of  his.  Let  us  use  entreaties  with 
licr;  then  let  us  rebuke  her;  and  at  last,  let  us  very  seri- 
ously threaten  her,  if  she  gives  him  any  encouragement  in 
luture. 

Lach.  I will  do  as  you  advise.  {Turning  to  an  Attendant.) 
IIo,  there,  boy!  run  to  the  house  of  Bacchis  here,  our  neigh- 
bor ; desire  her,  in  my  name,  to  come  hither.  {Exit  Attend- 
ant.) And  you,  I further  entreat,  to  give  me  your  assistance 
in  this  affair. 

PiiiD.  Well,  I have  already  said,  and  I now  say  again  to 
the  same  effect.  Laches,  I wish  this  alliance  between  us  to 
continue,  if  by  any  means  it  possibly  may,  which  I trust  will 
be  the  case.  But  should  you  like^  me  to  be  with  you  while 
you  meet  her  ? 

Lach.  Why  yes ; but  first  go  and  get  some  one  as  a nurse 
for  the  child.  ^ {Exit  Phidippus. 

«r 

Scene  VIII. 

Enter  Bacchis,  attended  hy  her  Women. 

Bacch.  {to  7i6?vWoMEN.)  It  is  not  formothing  that  Laches 
now  desires  to  speak  with  me;  and,  i’  faith,  I am  not  very 
far  from  mistaken  in  making  a guess  what  it  is  he  w^ants  me 
for. 

Lach.  {to  himself.)  I must  take  care  that  I don’t,  through 
anger,  miss  gaining  in  this  quarter  what  I othericise  might, 
and  that  I don’t  do  any  thing  which  hereafter  it  would  have 
been  better  I had  not  done.  I’ll  accost  her.  {Accosts  her,) 
Bacchis,  good-morrow  to  you  1 

Bacch.  Good-morrow  to  you.  Laches ! 

Lach.  Troth,  now,  Bacchis,  I suppose  you  somewhat  won- 

1 But  should  you  like) — Ycr.  725.  Donatus  observes  that  Phidippus 
utters  these  words  with  an  air  of  disinclination  to  be  present  at  the  con- 
ference ; and,  indeed,  the  characters  are  well  sustained,  as  it  would  not 
become  him  coolly  to  discourse  with  a courtesan,  whom  he  supposes  to 
have  alienated  Pamphilus  from  his  daughter,  although  he  might  very  prop- 
erly advise  it,  as  being  likely  to  conduce  to  the  peace  of  both  families. 


HECYKA ; 


[Act  IV. 


can  be  my  reason  for  sending  the  lad  to  fetch  you 
of  doors. 

Bacch.  Upon  my  faith,  I am  even  in  some  anxiety  as  well, 
when  I reflect  what  I am,  lest  the  name  of  my  calling  should 
be  to  my  prejudice ; for  my  behavior  I can  easily  defend. 

Lacii.  If  you  speak  the  truth,  you  will  be  in  no  danger, 
woman,  from  me,  for  I am  now  of  that  age  that  it  is  not  meet 
for  me  to  receive  forgiveness  for  a fault ; for  that  reason  do  I 
the  more  carefully  attend  to  every  particular,  that  I may  not 
act  with  rashness;  for  if  you  now  do,  or  intend  to  do,  that 
which  is  proper  for  deserving  women  to  do,  it  would  be  unjust 
for  me,  in  my  ignorance,  to  offer  an  injury  to  you,  when  un- 
deserving of  it. 

Baccii.  On  my  word,  great  is  the  gratitude  that  I ought  to 
feel  toward  you  for  such  conduct ; for  he  who,  after  commit- 
ting an  injury,  would  excuse  himself,  would  profit  me  but  lit- 
tle. But  what  is  the  matter  ? 

Lacii.  You  admit  my  son,  Pamphilus,  to  your  house. 

Bacch.  Ah ! 

Lacii.  Just  let  me  speak:  before  he  was  married  to  this* 
woman,  I tolerated  your  amour.  Stay!  I have  not  yet  said 
to  you  what  I intended.  He  has  now  got  a wife:  look  out 
for  another  person  more  to  be  depended  on,  while  you  have 
time  to  deliberate ; for  neither  will  he  be  of  this  mind  all  his 
life,  nor,  i’  faith,  will^ou  be  alivays  of  your  present  age. 

Bacch.  Who  is  it  says  this  ? 

Lach.  His  mother-in-law. 

Bacch.  What!  that  I 

Lach.  That  you  do : and  she  has  taken  away  her  daugh- 
ter ; and  for  that  reason,  has  wished  secretly  to  destroy  the 
child  that  has  been  born. 

Bacch.  Did  I know  any  other  means  whereby  I might  be 
enabled  to  establish  my  credit  with  you,  more  solemn  than 
an  oath,  I would.  Laches,  assure  you  of  this,  that  I have  kept 
Pamphilus  at  a distance^  from  me  ever  since  he  took  a wife. 


^ Kept  Pamphilus  at  a distance') — Ver.  752.  Colman  observes,  how 
are  we  to  reconcile  this  with  the  words  of  Parmeno  at  the  beginning  of 
the  Play,  where  he  says  that  Pamphilus  visited  Bacchis  daily ; and  he 
inquires  whether  we  are  to  suppose  that  Bacchis,  who  behaves  so  can- 
didly in  every  other  instance,  wantonly  perjures  herself  in  this,  or  that 
the  Poet,  by  a strange  infatuation  attending  him  in  this  Play,  contra- 


Sc.  IX.] 


THE  MOTHEE-IN-LAW. 


293 


Lacii.  You  are  very  good.  But,  pray,  do  you  know  what 
I would  prefer  that  you  should  do? 

Baccii.  What?  Tell  me. 

Lacii.  Go  in-doors  there  [pointing  to  the  house  of  Puidip- 
pus)  to  the  women,  and  make  the  same  promise,  on  oath,  to 
them  ; satisfy  their  minds,  and  clear  yourself  from  this  charge. 

Baccii.  I will  do  so  ; although,  i’  faith,  if  it  had  been  any 
other  woman  of  this  calling,  she  would  not  have  done  so,  I 
am  quite  sure ; present  herself  before  a married  woman  for 
such  a purpose ! But  I do  not  wish  your  son  to  be  suspected 
on  an  unfounded  report,  nor  appear  inconstant,  undeservedly, 
to  you,  to  whom  he  by  no  means  ought ; for  he  has  deserved 
of  me,  that,  so  far  as  I am  able,  I should  do  him  a service. 

Lacii.  Your  language  has  rendered  me  quite  friendly  and 
well  disposed  toward  you;  but  not  only  did  they  think  so — 
I too  believed  it.  Now  that  I have  found  you  quite  differ- 
ent from  what  I had  expected,  take  care  that  you  still  con- 
tinue the  same — make  use  of  my  friendship  as  you  please ; if 

otherwise ; but  I will  forbear,  that  you  may  not  hear  any 

thing  unkind  from  me.  But  this  one  thing  I recommend  you 
— make  trial  what  sort  of  a friend  I am,  or  what  I can  effect 
as  such^  rather  than  what  as  an  enemy. 

Scene  IX. 

Entei^  Phidippus  and  a Nukse. 

PiiiD.  (to  the  Nurse.)  Nothing  at  my  house  will  I suffer  you 
to  be  in  want  of;  but  whatever  is  requisite  shall  be  supplied 
you  in  abundance.  Still,  when  you  are  well  fed  and  well 
drenched,  do  take  care  that  the  child  has  enough.  (The  Nurse 
goes  into  his  house.) 

Lacii.  (to  Bacchis.)  My  son’s  father-in-law,  I see,  is  com- 
ing ; he  is  bringing  a nurse  for  the  child.  (Accosting  him,) 
Phidippus,  Bacchis  swears  most  solemnly. 

Phid.  Is  this  she  ? 


diets  himself?”  To  this  it  may  be  answered,  that  as  Bacchis  appears 
to  be  so  scrupulous  in  other  instances,  it  is  credible  that,  notwithstand- 
ing hi?  visits,  she  may  not  have  allowed  him  to  share  her  embraces. 


294 


HECYllA ; 


[Act  IV.,  Sc.  IX. 


Lac  II.  It  is. 

PiiiD.  Upon  my  faith,  those  women  don’t  fear  the  Gods; 
and  I don’t  think  that  the  Gods  care  about  them. 

ILvccii.  {pointing  to  her  Attendants.)  I will  give  you  up 
my  female  servants ; with  my  full  permission,  examine  them 
with  any  tortures  you  please.  The  business  at  present  is  this  : 
I must  make  his  wife  return  home  to  Pamphilus  ; should  I ef- 
fect that,  I shall  not  regret  its  being  reported  that  I have  been 
the  only  one  to  do  what  other  courtesans  avoid  doing. ^ 

Lacii.  We  find,  Phidippus,  that  Cur  wives  have  been  un- 
justly suspected^  by  us  in  this  matter.  Let  us  now  try  her 
still  further;  for  if  your  wife  discovers  that  she  has  given 
credence  to  a false  charge,  she  will  dismiss  her  resentment ; 
but  if  my  son  is  also  angry,  by  reason  of  the  circumstance 
that  his  wife  has  been  brought  to  bed  without  his  knowledge, 
that  is  a trifle : his  anger  on  that  account  will  speedily  sub- 
side. Assuredly  in  this  matter,  there  is  nothing  so  bad  as  to 
be  deserving  of  a separation. 

Phid.  I sincerely  wish  it  may  be  so. 

Lach.  Examine  her ; here  she  is ; she  herself  will  satisfy 
you. 

PiiiD.  Why  do  you  tell  me  these  things?  Is  it  because  you 
have  not  already  heard  what  my  feelings  are  with  regard  to 
this  matter,  Laches  ? Do  you  only  satisfy  their  minds. 

^ Other  courtesans  avoid  doing') — Ver.  777.  Colman  has  the  following 
quotation  from  Donatus  : “Terence,  by  his  uncommon  art,  has  attempt- 
ed many  innovations  with  great  success.  In  this  Comedy,  he  introdu- 
ces, contrary  to  received  prejudices,  a good  step-mother  and  an  honest 
courtesan ; but  at  the  same  time  he  so  carefully  assigns  their  motives 
of  action,  that  by  him  alone  every  thing  seems  reconcilable  to  truth 
and  nature  ; for  this  is  just  the  opposite  of  what  he  mentions  in  another 
place,  as  the  common  privilege  of  all  Poets,  ‘ to  paint  good  matrons  and 
wicked  courtesans.’  ” Perhaps  the  same  good  feeling  prompted  Ter- 
ence, in  showing  that  a mother-in-law  and  a courtesan  could  be  capable 
of  acting  with  good  and  disinterested  feelings,  which  caused  Cumber- 
land to  write  his  Play  of  “The  Jew,”  to  combat  the  popular  prejudice 
against  that  persecuted  class,  by  showing,  in  the  character  of  Sheva, 
that  a Jew  might  possibly  be  a virtuous  man. 

^ Have  been  unjustly  suspected) — Ver.  778.  The  words  here  employed 
are  also  capable  of  meaning,  if  an  active  sense  is  given  to  “ suspec- 
tas,”  “our  wives  have  entertained  wrong  suspicions;”  but  the  sense 
above  given  seems  preferable,  as  being  the  meaning  of  the  passage. 


Act  V.,  Sc.  L] 


THE  MOTHER-IN-LAW. 


295 


Lach.  Troth  now,  Bacchis,  I do  entreat  that  what  you 
have  promised  me  you  will  do. 

Baccii.  Would  you  wish  me,  then,  to  go  in  about  this 
business  ? 

Lach.  Go,  and  satisfy  their  minds,  so  as  to  make  them 
believe  it. 

Bacch.  ITl  go : although,  upon  my  word,  I am  quite  sure 
that  my  presence  will  be  disagreeable  to  them,  for  a married 
woman  is  the  enemy  of  a mistress,  when  she  has  been  sepa- 
rated from  her  husband. 

Lach.  But  they  will  be  your  friends,  when  they  know  the 
reason  of  your  coming. 

Phid.  And  I promise  that  they  shall  be  your  friends,  when 
they  know  the  fact ; for  you  will  release  them  from  their  mis- 
take, and  yourself,  at  the  same  time,  from  suspicion. 

Bacch.  Wretched  me!  Pm  ashamed  to  meet  Philumena. 
{To  her  Attendants.)  Do  you  both  follow  me  into  the  house. 
{Goes  into  the  house  with  Phidippus  and  her  Attendants.) 

Lach.  {to  himself,)  What  is  there  that  I could  more  wish 
for,  than  what  I see  has  happened  to  this  woman  ? To  gain 
favor  without  loss  to  myself,  and  to  benefit  myself  at  the  same 
time.  For  if  now  it  is  the  fact  that  she  has  really  withdrawn 
from  Pamphiliis,  she  knows  that  by  that  step  she  has  acquired 
lionor  and  reputation : she  returns  the  favor  to  him,  and,  by 
the  same  means,  attaches  us  as  friends  to  herself.  {Goes  into 
the  house.) 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Parmeno,  moving  along  ivith  difficulty. 

Par.  {to  himself.)  Upon  my  faith,  my  master  does  assured- 
ly think  my  labor  of  little  value ; to  have  sent  me  for  no- 
thing, where  I have  been  sitting  the  whole  day  to  no  purpose, 
waiting  at  the  citadel  for  Callidemides,  his  landlord  at  My- 
conos.  And  so,  while  sitting  there  to-day,  like  a fool,  as  each 
person  came  by,  I accosted  him  : — “ Young  man,  just  tell  me, 
pray,  are  you  a Myconian*?”  am  not.’’  ‘’But  is  your 


290 


HECYRxV ; 


[Act  V. 


name  Callidemides  V “ No.’’  “ Have  you  any  former  guest 

here  named  Pamphilus  All  said,  “ No ; and  I don’t  believe 
that  there  is  any  such  person.”  At  last,  i’  faith,  I was  quite 
ashamed,  and  went  away.  But  how  is  it  I see  Bacchis 
coming  out  of  our  neighbor’s  ? What  business  can  she  have 
there? 


Scene  II. 

Enter  Bacchis,  from  the  house  of  Phidippus. 

Bacch.  Parmeno,  you  make  your  appearance  opportunely ; 
run  with  all  speed^  to  Pamphilus. 

Par.  Why  thither? 

Bacch.  Say  that  I entreat  him  to  come. 

Par.  To  your  house  ? 

Bacch.  No  ; to  Philumena. 

Par.  What’s  the  matter  ? 

Bacch.  Nothing  that  concerns  you ; so  cease  to  make  in- 
quiry. 

Par.  Am  I to  say  nothing  else  ? 

Bacch.  Yes ; that  Myrrhina  has  recognized  that  ring  as  her 
daughter’s,  which  he  formerly  gave  me. 

Par.  I understand — is  that  all  ? 

Bacch.  That’s  all.  Pie  will  be  here  directly  he  has  heard 
this  from  you.  But  do  you  linger  ? 

Par.  P’ar  from  it,  indeed ; for  I’ve  not  had  the  opportunity 
given  me  to-day ; so  much  with  running  and  walking  about 
have  I wasted  the  whole  day.  {Goes  into  the  house  <?/ Laches.) 


Scene  III. 

Bacchis,  alone. 

Bacch.  What  great  joy  have  I caused  for  Pamphilus  by 
my  coming  to-day!  How  many  blessings  have  I brought 
him ! and  from  how  many  sorrows  have  I rescued  him ! A son 

1 Run  with  all  speed) — Yer.  809.  Donatus  remarks,  that  Parmeno  is 
clraAvn  as  being  of  a lazy  and  inquisitive  character ; and  that  Terence, 
therefore,  humorously  contrives  to  keep  him  always  on  the  move,  and 
in  total  ignorance  of  what  is  going  on. 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  MOITIER-IN-LAW. 


297 


I save  for  him,  when  it  was  nearly  perishing  tlirough  the 
agency  of  these  women  and  of  himself : a wife,  whom  he 
thought  that  he  must  cast  off  forever,  I restore  to  him : from 
the  suspicion  that  he  lay  under  with  his  father  and  Phidippus, 
I have  cleared  him.  This  ring,  in  fact,  was  the  cause  of  these 
discoveries  being  made.  For  I remember,  that  about  ten 
months  ago,  at  an  early  hour  of  night,  he  came  running  home 
to  my  house,  out  of  breath,  without  a companion,  and  sur- 
charged with  wine,^  with  this  ring  in  his  hand,  I felt  alarmed 
immediately:  “My  Pamphilus,”  I said,  “prithee,  my  dear, 
why  thus  breathless,  or  where  did  you  get  that  ring? — tell 
me!”  He  began  to  pretend  that  he  was  thinking  of  some- 
thing else.  When  I saw  that,  I began  to  suspect  I know  not 
what,  and  to  press  him  still  more  to  tell  me.  The  fellow  con- 
fessed that  he  had  ravished  some  female^  he  knew  not  whom, 
in  the  street ; and  said,  that  while  she  was  struggling,  he  had 
taken  that  ring  away  from  her.  Myrrhina  here  recognized  it 
just  now,  while  I had  it  on  my  finger.  She  asked  whence  it 
came : I told  her  all  the  story.  Hence  the  discovery  has  been 
made  that  it  was  Philumena  ravished  by  him,  and  that  this 
new-born  child  is  his.  I am  overjoyed  that  this  happiness 
hsa  befallen  him  through  my  agency ; although  other  courte- 
sans would  not  have  similar  feelings ; nor,  indeed,  is  it  to  our 
interest  that  any  lover  should  find  pleasure  in  matrimony. 
But,  i’  faith,  I never,  for  the  sake  of  gain,  will  give  my  mind 
to  base  actions.  So  long  as  I had  the  opportunity,  I found 
him  to  be  kind,  easy,  and  good-natured.  This  marriage  has 
fallen  out  unluckily  for  me, — that  I confess  to  be  the  fact. 
But,  upon  my  word,  I do  think  that  I have  done  nothing  for 
it  to  befall  me  deservedly.  It  is  but  reasonable  to  endure  in- 
conveniences from  one  from  whom  I have  received  so  many 
benefits. 

^ Surcharged  with  wine) — Ver.  824.  Cooke  has  this  remark  here : “ I 
suppose  that  this  is  the  best  excuse  the  Poet  could  make  for  the  young 
gentleman’s  being  guilty  of  felony  and  rape  at  the  same  time.  In  this 
speech,  the  incident  is  related  on  which  the  catastrophe  of  the  Play 
turns,  which  incident  is  a very  barbarous  one,  and  attended  with  more 
than  one  absurdity,  though  it  is  the  occasion  of  an  agreeable  dis- 
covery.” 

N2 


298 


llECYKA ; 


[Act  V. 


Scene  IV. 

Enter  Pamphilus  and  Parmeno,  from  the  house  of  Laches, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  stage. 

Pam.  Once  more,  take  care,  will  you,  my  dear  Parmeno, 
that  you  have  brought  me  a faithful  and  distinct  account,  so 
as  not  to  allure  me  for  a short  time  to  indulge  in  these  tran- 
sient joys. 

Par.  I have  taken  care. 

Pam.  For  certain? 

1^VR.  For  certain. 

Pam.  I am  quite  a God,  if  it  is  so ! 

Par.  You’ll  find  it  true. 

Pam.  Just  stay,  will  you;  I fear  that  Pm  believing  one 
thing,  and  you  are  telling  another. 

Par.  I am  staying. 

Pam.  I think  you  said  to  this  effect — that  Myrrhina  had 
discovered  that  Bacchis  has  her  ring. 

Par.  It  is  the  fact. 

Pam.  The  one  I formerly  gave  to  her ; and  she  has  desired 
you  to  tell  me  this : is  such  the  fact  ? 

Par.  Such  is  so,  I tell  you. 

Pam.  Who  is  there  happier  than  I,  and,  in  fact,  more  full 
of  joyousness?  What  am  I to  present  you  for  these  tidings? 
What? — what?  I know  not. 

PxVR.  But  I know. 

Pam.  What  ? 

Par.  Why,  nothing ; for  neither  in  the  tidings  nor  in  my- 
self do  I know  of  there  being  any  advantage  to  you. 

Pam.  What ! am  I to  suffer  you,  who  have  caused  me,  when 
dead,  to  be  restored  from  the  shades  to  life — to  leave  me  un- 
rewarded ? Oh,  you  deem  me  too  thankless  ! But  look — I 
see  Bacchis  standing  before  the  door ; she’s  waiting  for  me,  I 
suppose ; I’ll  accost  her. 

Bacch.  Save  you,  Pamphilus  ! 

Pam.  Oh  Bacchis ! Oh  my  Bacchis — my  preserver ! 

Bacch.  It  is  a fortunate  thing,  and  gives  me  great  delight. 

Pam.  By  your  actions,  you  give  me  reason  to  believe  you, 
and  so  much  do  you  retain  your  former  cliarming  qualities, 


Sc.  IV.J 


THE  iAKrrHER-IN-LAW. 


299 


that  wherever  you  go,  the  meeting  with  you,  your  company, 
your  conversation,  always  give  pleasure. 

Haccii.  And  you,  upon  my  word,  possess  your  former  man- 
ners and  disposition ; so  much  so  that  not  a single  man  living 
is  more  engaging  than  you. 

Pam.  {laughing,)  Ha,  ha,  ha!  do  you  tell  me  so? 

Haocii.  You  had  reason,  Pamphilus,  for  being  so  fond  of 
your  wife.  For  never  before  to-day  did  I set  eyes  upon  her, 
so  as  to  know  her : she  seems  a very  gentle  person. 

Pam.  Tell  the  truth. 

Baccii.  So  may  the  Gods  bless  me,  Pamphilus ! 

Pam.  Tell  me,  have  you  as  yet  told  any  of  these  matters  to 
my  father? 

Bacch.  Not  a word. 

Pam.  Nor  is  there  need,  in  fact ; therefore  keep  it  a secret : 
I don’t  wish  it  to  be  the  case  here  as  it  is  in  the  Comedies,^ 
where  every  thing  is  known  to  every  body.  Here,  those  who 
ought  to  know,  know  already  ; but  those  who  ought  not  to 
know,  shall  neither  hear  of  it  nor  know  it. 

Bacch.  Nay  more,  I will  give  you  a proof  why  you  may 
suppose  that  this  may  be  the  more  easily  concealed.  Myr- 
rhina  has  told  Phidippus  to  this  effect — ^^that  she  has  given 
credit  to  my  oath,  and  that,  in  consequence,  in  her  eyes  you 
arc  exculpated. 

Pam.  Most  excellent ; and  I trust  that  this  matter  will  turn 
out  according  to  our  wishes. 

Par.  Master,  may  I not  be  allowed  to  know  from  you  what 
is  the  good  that  I have  done  to-day,  or  what  it  is  you  are  talk- 
ing about  ? 

Pam.  You  may  not. 

^ In  the  Comedies) — Ver.  8G7. — Madame  Dacier  observes  on  this  pas- 
sage : “ Terence  here,  with  reason,  endeavors  to  make  the  most  of  a 
circumstance  peculiar  to  his  Play.  In  other  Comedies,  every  body. 
Actors  as  well  as  Spectators,  are  at  last  equally  acquainted  with  the 
whole  intrigue  and  catastrophe,  and  it  would  even  be  a defect  in  the 
plot  were  there  any  obscurity  remaining.  But  Terence,  like  a true 
genius,  makes  himself  superior  to  rules,  and  adds  new  beauties  to  his 
piece  by  forsaking  them.  His  reasons  for  concealing  from  part  of  the 
personages  of  the  Drama  the  principal  incident  of  the  plot,  are  so  plaus- 
ible and  natural,  that  he  could  not  have  followed  the  beaten  track  with- 
out offending  against  manners  and  decency.  This  bold  and  uncommon 
turn  is  one  of  the  chief  graces  of  the  Play.” 


300 


HECYK'^V  ; 


[Act  V.,  Sc.  IV. 


Par.  Still  I suspect.  I restore  him,  when  dead,  from  the 
shades  below.’’ ^ In  what  way? 

Pam,  You  don’t  know,  Parmeno,  how  much  you  have^ ben- 
ch ted  me  to-day,  and  from  what  troubles  you  have  extricated 
me. 

Par.  Nay,  but  indeed  I do  know  : and  I did  not  do  it  with- 
out design. 

Pam.  I know  that  well  enough  {ironically), 

Baccii.  Could  Parmeno,  from  negligence,  omit  any  thing 
that  ought  to  be  done  ? 

Pam.  Follow  me  in,  Parmeno. 

Par.  I’ll  follow ; for  my  part,  I have  done  more  good  to- 
day, without  knowing  it,  than  ever  I did^  knowingly,  in  all 
my  life.  {Coming  forward,)  Grant  us  your  applause.^ 

^ From  the  shades  helow) — Ver.  876.  Parmeno  says  this,  while  pon- 
dering upon  the  meaning  of  all  that  is  going  on,  and  thereby  expresses 
his  impatience  to  become  acquainted  with  it.  He  therefore  repeats 
what  Pamphilus  has  before  said  in  the  twelfth  line  of  the  present  Act, 
about  his  having  been  restored  from  death  to  life  by  his  agency. 

2 Your  applause) — Ver.  881.  We  may  here  remark,  that  the  Hecyra 
is  the  only  one  of  the  Plays  of  Terence  with  a single  plot. 


PHORMIOi  OR,  THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


DRAMATIS  PERSON-®. 

Demipho,  brothers. 

Chremes,^  ) ° 

AjfTiPHO,^  son  of  Demipho. 

PHiEDRiA,*  son  of  Chremes. 

Phormio,®  a Parasite. 

Geta,®  servant  of  Demipho. 

Davus,^  a servant. 

Hegio,® 

Cratinus,®  y Advocates. 

Crito/®  J 
Dorio,^^  a Procurer. 

Nausistrata,^^  the  wife  of  Chremes. 

SOPHRONA,^^  the  nurse  of  Phanium. 

Scene. — Athens  ; before  the  houses  of  Demipho,  Chremes,  and  DoRio. 


* From  Sjjjudg,  “ the  people,”  and  “ light.” 

^ See  the  Dramatis  Personje  of  the  Andria. 

^ See  the  Dramatis  Personae  of  the  Eunuchus. 

^ See  the  Dramatis  Personae  of  the  Eunuchus. 

® From  (popfib^y  “ an  osier  basket.” 

® See  the  Dramatis  Personae  of  the  Adelphi. 

^ See  the  Dramatis  Personae  of  the  Andria. 

® See  the  Dramatis  Personae  of  the  Adelphi. 

® From  KpaTog,  ‘‘strength.” 

See  the  Dramatis  Personae  of  the  Andria. 
From  Doris,  his  country,  a part  of  Caria. 

From  vavgy  “ a ship,”  and  oTparog,  “ an  army.” 
“ See  the  Dramatis  Personae  of  the  Eunuchus. 


THE  SUBJECT. 


Chremes  and  Demiriio  are  two  aged  Athenians,  brothers.  Nausistrata, 
the  wife  of  Chremes,  is  a wealthy  woman,  possessed  of  large  estates 
in  the  island  of  Lemnos.  Chremes,  who  goes  thither  yearly  to  re- 
ceive the  rents,  meets  with  a poor  woman  there,  whom  he  secretly 
marries,  and  has  by  her  a daughter  called  Phanium ; while  engaged 
in  this  intrigue,  Chremes  passes  at  Lemnos  by  the  name  of  Stilpho. 
By  his  wife,  Nausistrata,  at  Athens,  Chremes  has  a son,  named 
Phaidria,  and  his  brother  has  a son,  named  Antipho.  Phanium  hav- 
ing now  arrived  at  her  fifteenth  year,  the  two  brothers  privately  agree 
that  she  shall  be  brought  to  Athens  and  married  to  Antipho.  Por 
This  purpose,  Chremes  goes  to  Lemnos,  while  Demipho  is  obliged  to 
take  a journey  to  Cilicia.  On  departing,  they  leave  their  sons  in  the 
care  of  Geta,  one  of  Demipho’s  servants.  Shortly  afterw'ard,  Phte- 
dria  falls  in  love  with  a Music-girl,  but,  from  want  of  means,  is  un- 
able to  purchase  her  from  her  owner.  In  the  mean  time,  the  Lem- 
nian  wife  of  Chremes,  urged  by  poverty,  embarks  for  Athens,  whith- 
er she  arrives  with  her  daughter  and  her  nurse.  Here  they  inquire 
for  Stilpho,  but  in  vain,  as  they  can  not  find  any  one  of  that  name. 
Shortly  after,  the  mother  dies,  and  Antipho,  seeing  Phanium  by  ac- 
cident, falls  in  love  with  her.  Being  wishful  to  marry  her,  he  applies 
to  Phormio,  a Parasite,  for  his  advice.  The  latter  hits  upon  the  fol- 
lowing scheme  : there  being  a law  at  Athens,  which  obliges  the  next- 
of-kin  to  female  orphans,  either  to  marry  them  or  give  them  a por- 
tion, the  Parasite  pretends  that  he  is  a friend  of  Phanium,  and  in- 
sists that  Antipho  is  her  nearest  relation,  and  is  consequently  bound 
to  marry  her.  Antipho  is  summoned  before  a court  of  justice,  and 
it  being  previously  arranged,  allows  .judgment  to  be  given  against 
himself,  and  immediately  marries  Phanium.  Shortly  after,  the  old 
men  return  upon  the  same  day,  and  are  much  vexed,  the  one  on 
finding  that  his  son  has  married  a woman  without  a fortune,  the  other 
that  he  has  lost  the  opportunity  of  getting  his  daughter  advantageous- 
ly married.  In  the  mean  time,  Phasdria  being  necessitated  to  raise 
some  money  to  purchase  the  Music-girl,  Geta  and  Phormio  arrange 
that  the  former  shall  pretend  to  the  old  man  that  Phormio  has  con- 
sented to  take  back  the  woman  whom  Antipho  has  married,  if  Demi- 
pho will  give  her  a portion  of  thirty  minte.  Demipho  borrows  the 
money  of  Chremes,  and  pays  it  to  Phormio,  who  hands  it  over  to 
Phaedria,  and  Phaedria  to  Dorio,  for  his  mistress.  At  this  conjunct- 
ure, it  becomes  known  wLo  Phanium  really  is,  and  the  old  men  are 
delighted  to  find  that  Antipho  has  married  the  very  person  they 
wished.  They  attempt,  however,  to  get  back  the  thirty  minae  from 
Phormio,  and  proceed  to  threats  and  violence.  On  this,  Phormio, 
who  has  accidentally  learned  the  intrigue  of  Chremes  with  the  woman 
of  Lemnos,  exposes  him,  and  relates  the  whole  story  to  his  wife, 
Nausistrata  ; on  which  she  censures  her  husband  for  his  bad  conduct, 
and  the  Play  concludes  with  her  thanks  to  Phormio  for  his  informa- 
tion. 


THE  TITLE  OF  THE  PLAY. 


Performed  at  the  Roman  Games, ^ L.  Postliumius  Albinus 
and  L.  Cornelius  Merula  being  Curule  ^diles.  L.  Ambi- 
vius  Turpio  and  L.  Atilius  Prsenestinus  performed  it. 
Flaccus,  the  freedman  of  Claudius,  composed  the  music  to 
a base  and  a treble  flute.  It  is  wholly  from  the  Greek, 
being  the  Epidicazomenos  of  Apollodorus.  It  was  repre- 
sented four  times, C.  Fannius  and  M.  Valerius  being  Con- 
suls.^ 

' The  Toman  Games) — The^liidi  Romani,”  or  “ Roman  Games,” 
were  first  established  by  Ancus  Marcius,  and  were  celebrated  in  the 
month  of  September. 

2 Four  times) — The  numerals  signifying  ‘‘four,”  Donatus  takes  to 
mean  that  this  was  the  fourth  Play  composed  by  Terence ; it  is,  how- 
ever, more  generally  supposed  that  the  meaning  is,  that  it  was  acted 
four  times  in  one  year. 

^ Being  Consuls) — M.  Valerius  Messala  and  C.  Fannius  Strabo  were 
Consuls  in  the  year  from  the  Building  of  the  City  591,  and  b.c.  162. 


PHORMIO;  OR,  THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


THE  SUMMARY  OF  C.  SULPITIUS  APOLLINAPJS. 

Demipho,  the  brother  of  Chremes,  has  gone  abroad,  his  son  Antipho 
being  left  at  Athens.  Chremes  has  secretly  a wife  and  a daughter 
at  Lemnos,  another  wife  at  Athens,  and  an  only  son,  who  loves  a 
Music-girl.  The  mother  arrives  at  Athens  from  Lemnos,  and  there 
dies.  The  girl,  her  orphan  daughter,  (Chremes  being  away,)  arranges 
the  funeral.  After  Antipho  has  fallen  in  love  with  her  when  seen 
there,  through  the  aid  of  the  Parasite  he  receives  her  as  his  wife. 
His  father  and  Chremes,  having  now  returned,  begin  to  be  enraged. 
Afterward  they  give  thirty  minae  to  the  Parasite,  that  he  may  take 
her  as  his  own  wife.  With  this  money  the  Music-girl  is  bought /or 
Phcedria,  Antipho  then  keeps  his  w'ife,  w^ho  has  been  recognized  by 
his  uncle. 


TPIE  PROLOGUE. 

Since  the  old  Poet^  can  not  withdraw  our  bard  from  his 
pursuits  and  reduce  him  to  indolence,  he  endeavors,  bj  in- 
vectives, to  deter  him  from  writing:  for  he  is  wont  to  say 
to  this  effect, — that  the  Plays  which  he  has  hitherto  com- 
posed are  poor  in  their  language,  and  of  meagre  style ; because 
he  has  nowhere  described  a frantic  youth  as  seeing  a hind 
in  flight,  and  the  hounds  pursuing;  while  he  implores^  and 

^ Since  the  old  Poet) — Ver.  1.  He  alludes  to  his  old  enemy,  Luscus 
Lavinius,  w ho  is  mentioned  in  all  his  Prologues,  except  those  to  the 
llecyra. 

2 While  one  implored) — ^Ver.  8.  “Et  earn  plorare,  orare  ut  subveniat 
sibi.’’  This  is  \*Tobably  in  allusion  to  some  absurd  passage  in  one  of  the 
Inlays  of  Lavinius.  It  is  generally  supposed  to  mean,  that  the  stag  im- 
plores the  young  man ; but  as  the  youth  is  mad,  the  absurdity  of  the 
passage  is  heightened  if  we  suppose  that  he  implores  the  stag,  and,  in 
the  moment  of  its  own  danger,  entreats  it  to  come  to  his  own  assist- 
ance ; as  certainly  the  Latin  will  admit  of  that  interpretation.-y-Ovid 
has  a somewhat  similar  passage  in  the  Pontic  Epistles,  B.  ii.  Ep.  ii.  1. 
89  : “The  hind  that,  in  its  terror,  is  flying  from  the  savage  dogs^  hesi- 
tates not  to  trust  itself  to  the  neighboring  house.”  1 


305 


riiOilMIO;  OK,  THE  SCHEMING 

entreated  that  he  would  give  her  aid.  But  if  he  had  been 
aware  that  his  Flaij,  when  formerly  first  represented,  stood 
its  ground  more  through  the  merits  of  the  performers  than 
its  own,  he  would  attack  with  much  less  boldness  than  he 
does.  Now,  if  there  is  any  one  who  says  or  thinks  to  this 
effect,  that  if  the  old  Poet  had  not  assailed  him  first,  the 
young  one  could  have  devised  no  Prologue  for  him  to  repeat, 
without  having  some  one  to  abuse,  let  him  receive  this  for 
an  answer:  ‘Hhat  the  prize  is  proposed  in  common  to  all 
who  apply  to  the  Dramatic  art.”  He  has  aimed  at  driving 
our  Poet  from  his  studies  to  absolute  want ; he  then  has  in- 
tended this  for  an  answer,  not  an  attack.  If  he  had  opposed 
him  with  fair  words,  he  would  have  heard  himself  civilly 
addressed ; what  has  been  given  by  him,  let  him  consider 
as  7101U  returned.  I will  make  an  end  of  speaking  about 
him,  when,  of  his  own  accord,  he  himself  makes  an  end 
of  offending.  Now  give  your  attention  to  what  I request. 
I present  you  a new  Play,  which  they  call  Epidicazo- 
menos,”Mn  Greek:  in  the  Latin,  he  calls  it  ^^Phormio;” 
because  the  person  that  acts  the  principal  part  is  Phormio, 
a Parasite,  through  whom,  principally,  the  plot  will  be 
carried  on,  if  your  favor  attends  the  Poet.  Lend  your 
attention ; in  silence  give  an  ear  with  impartial  feelings, 
that  we  may  not  experience  a like  fortune  to  what  we 
did,  when,  through  a tumult,  our  Company  was  driven 
from  the  place  which  ^lace,  the  merit  of  the  actor,  and 
your  good-will  and  candor  seconding  it,  has  since  restored 
unto  us. 

^ Epidiccizomenos) — Ver.  25.  A Play  of  Apollodorus,  so  called  from 
that  Greek  word,  signifying  “one  who  demands  justice  from  another,” 
in  allusion  to  Phormio,  who  is  the  complainant  in  the  suit,  which  is  the 
foundation  of  the  plot. 

^ Was  driven  from  the  place) — ^Ver.  32.  Alluding,  probably,  to  the 
disturbances  which  took  place  at  the  first  representation  of  the  Hecyra, 
and  which  are  mentioned  in  the  Prologues  to  that  Play, 


PHORMIO;  OR, 


[Act  I.,  Sc.  I. 


30C) 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Davus,^  ivith  a hag  of  money  in  his  hand, 

Dav.  Geta,  my  very  good  friend  and  fellow-townsman, 
came  to  me  yesterday.  There  had  been  for  some  time  a 
trifling  balance  of  money  of  his  in  my  hands  upon  a small 
account;  he  asked  me  to  make  it  up.  I have  clone  so,  and 
am  carrying  it  to  him.  But  I hear  that  his  master’s  son  has 
taken  a wife ; this,  I suppose,  is  scraped  together  as  a present 
for  her.  How  unfair  a custom  ! — that  those  who  have  the 
least  should  always  be  giving  something  to  the  more  wealthy  ! 
That  which  the  poor  wretch  has  with  difficulty  spared,  ounce 
by  ounce,  out  of  his  allowance,^  defrauding  himself  of  every 
indulgence,  the  whole  of  it  will  she  carry  off,  without 
thinking  with  how  much  labor  it  has  been  acquired.  And 
then  besides,  Geta  will  be  struck^  for  another  present"^  when 
his  mistress  is  brought  to  bed ; and  then  again  for  another 
iwesent^  when  the  child’s  birthday  comes  ; when  they  initiate 
him,^  too : all  this  the  mother  will  carry  off ; the  child  will 
only  be  the  pretext  for  the  present.  But  don’t  I see  Geta 
there  ? 

^ Davus) — Davus  is  a protatic  character,  only  introduced  for  the  pur- 
pose of  opening  the  story. 

^ Out  of  his  allowance) — Ver.  43.  Donatus  tells  us  that  the  slaves  re- 
ceived four  “ modii,”  or  measures  of  corn,  each  month,  which  was  called 
their  “demensum.” 

3 Will  be  struck) — Ver.  48.  “Ferietur.”  “To  strike”  a person  for 
a present  was  said  when  it  was  extorted  from  him  reluctantly.  So  in 
the  Trinummuns  of  Plautus,  1.  247,  “ Ibi  ilia  pendentem  ferit.”  “Then 
does  she  strike  while  he  is  wavering.” 

For  another  present) — Ver.  48.  Presents  were  usually  made  to  per- 
sons on  their  birthday,  on  the  day  of  their  marriage,  and  on  the  birth 
of  their  children. 

^ Initiate  him') — Ver.  49.  It  is  not  known  what  initiation  is  here 
referred  to.  Madame  Dacier  thinks  it  was  an  initiation  into  the  great 
mysteries  of  Ceres,  which  was  commonly  performed  while  children  were 
yet  very  young ; others  suggest  that  it  means  the  period  of  weaning  the 
child,  and  initiating  it  into  the  use  of  another  kind  of  diet.  Donatus 
says,  that  Varro  speaks  of  children  being  initiated  into  the  mysteries 
of  the  Deities  Edulia,  Potica,  and  Cuba,  the  Divinities  of  Eating,  Drink- 
ing, and  Sleeping. 


Sc.  IT.] 


THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


307 


Scene  II. 

Enter  GETA^yVom  the  house  q/’DEMinio. 

Geta  {at  the  door^  to  those  within,)  If  any  red-haired  man 
should  inquire  for  me 

Dav.  {stepping  forivard.)  Here  he  is,  say  no  more. 

Geta  {starting.)  Oh  ! Why  I was  trying  to  come  and  meet 
you,  Davus. 

Dav.  ( giving  the  money  to  Geta.)  Here,  take  it ; it’s  all 
ready  counted  out;^  the  number  just  amounts  to  the  sum  I 
owed  you. 

Geta.  I am  obliged  to  you ; and  I return  you  thanks  for 
not  having  forgotten  me. 

Dav.  Especially  as  people’s  ways  are  nowadays ; things 
are  come  to  such  a pass,  if  a person  repays  you  any  thing, 
you  must  be  greatly  obliged  to  him.  But  why  are  you  out 
of  spirits  ? 

Geta.  What,  I?  You  little  know  what  terror  and  peril 
I am  in. 

Dav.  What’s  the  matter? 

Geta.  You  shall  know,  if  you  can  only  keep  it  secret. 

Dav.  Out  upon  you,  simpleton ; the  man,  whose  trustwor- 
thiness you  have  experienced  as  to  money,  are  you  afraid  to 
intrust  with  words  ? In  what  way  have  I any  interest  in  de- 
ceiving you  ? 

Geta.  Well  then,  listen. 

Dav.  I give  you  my  best  attention. 

Geta.  Davus,  do  you  know  Chremes,  the  elder  brother  of 
our  old  gentleman  ? 

Dav.  Why  should  I not  ? 

Geta.  Well,  and  his  son  Phsedria? 

Dav.  As  well  as  your  own  self. 

Geta.  It  so  happened  to  both  the  old  gentlemen,  just  at 
the  same  period,  that  the  one  had  to  take  a journey  to  Lem- 
nos, and  our  old  man  to  Cilicia,  to  see  an  old  acquaintance; 
he  tempted  over  the  old  man  by  letters,  promising  him  all  but 
mountains  of  gold. 

^ Ready  counted  out) — Ver.  53.  “Lectnm,”  literally  “picked  out”  or 
“chosen” — the  coins  being  of  full  weight. 


308  PUCmiVlIO ; OK,  [Act  I.  ' 

Dav.  To  one  who  had  so  much  property,  that  he  had  more 
than  he  could  use  ? 

Geta.  Do  have  done ; that  is  his  way. 

Dav.  Oh,  as  for  that,  I realhj  ought  to  have  been  a man  of 
fortune. 

Geta.  When  departing  hence,  both  the  old  gentlemen  left 
me  as  a sort  of  tutor  to  their  sons. 

Dav.  Ah,  Geta,  you  undertook  a hard  task  there. 

Geta.  I came  to  experience  it,  I know  that.  I’m  quite 
sure  that  I was  forsaken  by  my  good  Genius,  who  must  have 
been  angry  with  me.^  I began  to  oppose  them  at  first ; hut 
what  need  of  talking?  As  long  as  I.  was  trusty  to  the  old 
men,  I was  paid  for  it  in  my  shoulder-blades.  This,  then, 
occurred  to  my  mind : why,  this  is  folly  to  kick  against  the 
spur.2  j began  to  do  every  thing  for  them  that  they  wished 
to  be  humored  in. 

Dav.  You  knew  how  to  make  your  market.^ 

Geta.  Our  young  fellow  did  no  mischief  whatever  at  first ; 
that  Phasdria  at  once  picked  up  a certain  damsel,  a Music- 
girl,  and  fell  in  love  with  her  to  distraction.  She  belonged 
to  a most  abominable  Procurer;  and  their  fathers  had  taken 
good  care  that  they  should  have  nothing  to  give  him.  There 
remained  nothing  for  him  then  but  to  feed  his  eyes,  to  follow 
her  about,  to  escort  her  to  the  school,^  and  to  escort  her  back 
again.  We,  having  nothing  to  do,  lent  our  aid  to  Phaedria. 
Near  the  school  at  which  she  was  taught,  right  opposite  the 

^ Have  been  angry  with  me) — Ver.  74.  He  alludes  to  the  common  be- 
lief that  each  person  had  a Genius  or  Guardian  Deity  ; and  that  when 
misfortune  overtook  him,  he  had  been  abandoned  by  his  Genius. 

2 Kick  against  the  spur) — ^Ver.  78.  “To  kick  against  the  pricks,”  or 
“in  spite  of  the  spur,”  was  a common  Greek  proverb.  The  expression 
occurs  in  the  New  Testament,  Acts  ix.  5.  “It  is  hard  for  thee  to  kick 
against  the  pricks.” 

^ To  make  your  market') — Ver.  79.  This  is  a metaphorical  expression 
taken  from  traffic,  in  which  merchants  suit  themselves  to  the  times, 
and  fix  a price  on  their  commodities,  according  to  the  course  of  the 
market. 

^ To  the  school) — Ver.  86.  It  was  the  custom  for  the  “lenones,”  or 
“procurers,”  to  send  their  female  slaves  to  music-schools,  in  order  to 
learn  accomplishments.  So  in  the  Prologue  to  the  Rudens  of  Plautus : 
“This  Procurer  brought  the  maiden  to  Gyrene  hither.  A certain 
Athenian  youth,  a citizen  of  this  city,  beheld  her  as  she  was  going  home 
from  the  music-school.” 


So.  II.] 


THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


309 


place,  thei'c  was  certain  barber’s  shop:  here  we  were 
generally  in  the  habit  of  waiting  for  her,  until  she  was 
coming  home  again.  In  the  mean  time,  while  one  day  we 
were  sitting  there,  there  came  in  a young  man  in  tears  we 
were  surprised  at  this.  We  inquired  what  was  the  matter"? 
‘‘Never,”  said  he,  “has  poverty  appeared  to  me  a burden 
so  grievous  and  so  insupportable  as  just  now.  I have  just 
seen  a certain  poor  young  woman  in  this  neighborhood  la- 
menting her  dead  mother.  She  was  laid  out  before  her,  and 
not  a single  friend,  acquaintance,  or  relation  was  there  with 
her,  except  one  poor  old  woman,  to  assist  her  in  the  funeral : 
I pitied  her.  The  girl  herself  was  of  surpassing  beauty.” 
What  need  of  a long  story  ? She  moved  us  all.  At  once 
Antipho  exclaims^  “Would  you  like  us  to  go  and  visit 
her?”  The  other  said^  “I  think  we  ought — let  us  go — show 
us  the  way,  please.”  We  went,  and  arrived  there;  we  saw 
her;  the  girl  was  beautiful,  and  that  you  might  say  so  the 
more,  there  was  no  heightening  to  her  beauty;  her  hair 
disheveled,  her  feet  bare,  herself  neglected,  and  in  tears;  her 
dress  mean,  so  that,  had  there  not  been  an  excess  of  beauty 
in  her  very  charms,  these  circumstances  must  have  extin- 
guished those  charms.  The  one  who  had  lately  fallen  in  love 
with  the  Music-girl  said:  “She  is  well  enough;”  but  our 
youth 

Dav.  I know  it  already — fell  in  love  with  her. 

Geta.  Can  you  imagine  to  what  an  extent?  Observe  the 
consequence.  The  day  after,  he  goes  straight  to  the  old 
woman ; entreats  her  to  let  him  have  her : she,  on  the  other 
hand,  refuses  him,  and  says  that  he  is  not  acting  properly ; 
that  she  is  a citizen  of  Athens,  virtuous,  and  born  of  honest 
'parents:  that  if  he  wishes  to  make  her  his  wife,  he  is  at 
liberty  to  do  so  according  to  law;  but  if  otherwise,  she 
gives  him  a refusal.  Our  youth  was  at  a loss  what  to  do. 
He  was  both  eager  to  marry  her,  and  he  dreaded  his  absent 
father. 

’ Young  man  in  tears) — Ver.  92.  In  the  Play  of  Apollodorus,  it  was 
the  barber  himself  that  gave  the  account  how  he  had  just  returned  from 
cutting  off  the  young  woman’s  hair,  which  was  one  of  the  usual  cere- 
monies in  mourning  among  the  Greeks.  Donatus  remarks,  that  Ter- 
ence altered  this  circumstance  that  he  might  not  shock  a Roman  audi- 
ence by  a reference  to  manners  so  different  from  their  ov/n. 


310  PHORMIO;  OR,  [Act  1. 

Dav.  Would  not  his  father,  if  he  had  returned,  have  given 
him  leave? 

Geta.  He  let  liim  marry  a girl  with  no  fortune,  and  of  ob- 
scure birth  ! He  would  never  do  so, 

Dav.  What  came  of  it  at  last  ? 

Geta.  What  came  of  it?  There  is  one  Phormio  here,  a 
Parasite,  a fellow  of  great  assurance ; may  all  the  Gods  con- 
found him ! 

Day.  What  has  he  done  ? 

Geta.  He  has  given  this  piece  of  advice,  which  I will  tell 
you  of.  “There  is  a law,  that  orphan  girls  are  to  marry 
those  who  are  their  next-of-kin ; and  the  same  law  commands 
such  persons  to  marry  them.  I’ll  say  you  are  the  next-of-kin, 
and  take  out  a summons^  against  you ; I’ll  pretend  that  I am 
a friend  of  the  girl’s  father ; we  will  come  before  the  judges : 
who  her  father  was,  who  her  mother,  how  she  is  related  to 
you — all  this  I’ll  trump  up,  just  as  will  be  advantageous  and 
suited  to  my  purpose;  on  your  disproving  none  of  these 
things,  I shall  prevail,  of  course.  Your  father  will  return ; a 
quarrel  will  be  the  consequence  ; what  care  I?  She  will  still 
be  ours.” 

Day.  An  amusing  piece  of  assurance ! 

Geta.  He  was  persuaded  to  this.  It  was  carried  out ; 
they  came  into  court : we  were  beaten.  He  has  married  her. 

Dav.  What  is  it  you  tell  me  ? i. 

Geta.  Just  what  you  have  heard. 

Dav.  O Geta,  what  will  become  of  you  ? 

Geta.  Upon  my  faith,  I don’t  know ; this  one  thing  I do 
know,  whatever  fortune  may  bring,  I’ll  bear  it  with  firmness. 

Dav.  You  please  me ; well,  that  is  the  duty  of  a man. 

Geta.  All  my  hope  is  in  myself. 

Dav.  I commend  you. 

Geta.  Suppose  I have  recourse  to  some  one  to  intercede 
for  me,  who  will  plead  for  me  in  these  terms:  “Pray,  do  for- 
give him  this  time ; but  if  after  this  he  does  any  thing,  I make 
no  entreaty:”  if  only  he  doesn’t  add,  “When  I’ve  gone,  e’en 
kill  him  for  my  loartP 

Dav.  What  of  the  one  who  was  usher  to  the  Music-girl  ?- 

^ TaJce  out  a summons) — Yer.  127.  “Dica”  was  the  writ  or  summons 
with  which  an  action  at  law  was  commenced. 

2 Usher  to  the  Music-girl) — Yer.  14-1.  This  is  said  satirically  of 


Sc.  IIL] 


THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


311 


Geta  (shrugging  his  shoulders.)  So  so,  but  poorly. 

Day.  Perhaps  he  hasn’t  much  to  give. 

Geta.  Why,  really,  nothing  at  all,  except  mere  hopes. 

Day.  Is  his  father  come  back  or  not  ? 

Geta.  Not  yet. 

Day.  Well,  when  do  you  expect  your  old  man? 

Geta.  I don’t  know  for  certain  ; but  I just  now  heard  that 
a letter  has  been  brought  from  him,  and  has  been  left  with 
the  officers  of  the  customs : I’m  going  to  fetch  it. 

Day.  Is  there  any  thing  else  that  you  want  with  me, 
Geta  ? 

Geta.  Nothing^  hut  that  I wish  you  well.  (Exit  Dayus.) 
Hark  you,  boy  (calling  at  the  door).  Is  nobody  coming  out 
here  ? (A  Lad  comes  out.)  Take  this,  and  give  it  to  Dorcium. 
(He  gives  the  purse  to  the  Lad,  who  carries  it  into  Demipho’s 
house  and  exit  Geta.) 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Antipiio  and  P^^dria. 

Ant.  That  things  should  haYC  come  to  such  a pass,  Phse- 
dria,  that  I should  be  in  utter  dread  of  my  father,  who  wishes 
me  so  well,  wheneYcr  his  return  comes  into  my  thoughts ! 
Had  I not  been  inconsiderate,  I might  have  waited  for  him, 
as  I ought  to  have  done. 

Ph^d.  What’s  the  matter? 

Ant.  Do  you  ask  the  question  ? You,  who  have  been  my 
confederate  in  so  bold  an  adventure?  How  I do  wish  it  had 
never  entered  the  mind  of  Phormio  to  persuade  me  to  this,  or 
to  urge  me  in  the  heat  of  my  passion  to  this  step,  which  is  the 
source  of  my  misfortunes.  Then  I should  not  have  obtained 
her;  in  that  case  I might  have  been  uneasy  for  some  few 
days;  but  still,  this  perpetual  anxiety  would  not  have  been 
tormenting  my  mind  (touching  Ph^dria). 

Ph^d.  I hear  yoii. 

Phasdria,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  escorting  the  girl  to  the  music-school. 
It  was  the  duty  of  the  “ pasdagogi,”  or  “ tutors,”  to  lead  the  children  to 
school,  who  were  placed  under  their  care.  See  the  speech  of  Lydus, 
the  psedagogus  of  Pistoclerus,  in  the  Bacchides  of  Plautus,  Act  iii.  Sc. 
3,  where,  enlarging  upon  his  duties,  he  mentions  this  among  them. 


312  PHOKMIO;  OR,  [Act  1. 

Ant.  While  I am  every  moment  expecting  his  return,  who 
is  to  sever  from  me  this  connectionJ 

Pii^D.  Other  men  feel  uneasiness  because  they  can  not 
gain  what  they  love ; you  complain  because  you  have  too 
much.  You  are  surfeited  with  love,  Antipho.  Why,  really, 
upon  my  faith,  this  situation  of  yours  is  surely  one  to  be 
coveted  and  desired.  So  may  the  Gods  kindly  bless  me, 
could  I be  at  liberty  to  be  so  long  in  possession  of  the  object 
of  my  love,  I could  contentedly  die.  Do  you,  then,  form  a 
judgment  as  to  the  rest,  what  I am  now  suffering  from  this 
privation,  and  what  pleasure  you  enjoy  from  the  possession  of 
your  desires ; not  to  mention  how,  without  amj  expense,  you 
have  obtained  a well-born  and  genteel  woman,  and  have  got 
a wife  of  unblemished  reputation : happy  you^  were  not  this 
one  thing  wanting,  a mind  capable  of  bearing  all  this  with 
moderation.  If  you  had  to  deal  with  that  Procurer  with 
whom  I have  to  deal,  then  you  would  soon  be  sensible  of  it. 
We  are  mostly  all  of  us  inclined  by  nature  to  be  dissatisfied 
with  our  lot. 

Ant.  Still,  on  the  other  hand,  Phsedria,  you  now  seem  to 
me  the  fortunate  man,  who  still  have  the  liberty,  without  re- 
straint, of  resolving  on  what  pleases  you  best : ivhether  to  keep, 
to  love  on,  or  to  give  her  up.  I,  unfortunately,  have  got  my- 
self into  that  position,  that  I have  neither  right^  to  give  her 
up,  nor  liberty  to  retain  her.  But  how’s  this?  Is  it  our 
Geta  I see  running  this  way?  ’Tis  he  himself.  Alas!  I’m 
dreadfully  afraid  what  news  it  is  he’s  now  bringing  me. 

Scene  IV. 

Enter  Geta,  running^  at  the  other  side  of  the  stage, 

Geta  {to  himself)  Geta,  you  are  undone,  unless  you  in- 
stantly find  out  some  expedient ; so  suddenly  do  such  mighty 
evils  now  threaten  me  thus  unprepared,  which  I neither  know 
how  to  shun,  nor  how  to  extricate  myself  therefrom ; for  this 

^ Sever  from  me  this  connection) — Yer.  161.  Bj  forcing  him  to  divorce 
her. 

2 Neither  right) — Ver.  176.  No  right  to  get  rid  of  her  in  consequence 
of  the  judgment  which,  at  the  suit  of  Phormio,  has  been  pronounced 
against  him ; nor  yet,  right  to  keep  her,  because  of  his  father-insisting 
upon  turning  her  out  of  doors. 


Sc.  IV.J 


THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


313 


daring  step  of  ours  can  not  now  any  longer  be  kept  a secret. 
If  such  a result  is  not  adroitly  guarded  against,  these  matters 
will  cause  the  ruin  of  myself,  or  of  my  master. 

Ant.  {to  Ph^dria.)  Why,  I wonder,  is  he  coming  in  such 
fright'? 

Geta  {to  himself.)  Besides,  Pve  but  a moment  left  for  this 
matter — my  master’s  close  at  hand. 

Ant.  {to  Ph^dria.)  What  mischief  is  this  ? 

Geta  {to  himself.)  When  he  comes  to  hear  of  it,  what 
remedy  shall  I discover  for  his  anger?  Am  I to  speak?  I 
shall  irritate  him : be  silent  ? I shall  provoke  him  : excuse 
myself?  I should  be  washing  a brickbat. ^ Alas!  unfortunate 
me  I While  I am  trembling  for  myself,  this  Antipho  distracts 
my  mind.  I am  concerned  for  him  ; I’m  in  dread  for  him  : 
’tis  he  that  now  keeps  me  here ; for  had  it  not  been  for  him, 
I should  have  made  due  provision  for  my  safety,  and  have 
taken  vengeance  on  the  old  man  for  his  crabbedness ; I should 
have  scraped  up  something,  and  straightway  taken  to  my  heels 
away  from  here. 

Ant.  {to  Ph^dria.)  I wonder  what  running  away  or  theft 
it  is  that  he’s  planning. 

Geta  {to  himself)  But  where  shall  I find  Antipho,  or 
which  way  go  look  for  him  ? 

Ph^d.  {to  Antipho.)  He’s  mentioning  your  name. 

Ant.  {to  Ph^dria.)  I know  not  what  great  misfortune  I 
expect  to  hear  from  this  messenger. 

PhuEd.  {to  Antipho.)  Why,  are  you  in  your  senses  ? 

Geta  {to  himself.)  I’ll  make  my  way  homeward ; he’s  gen- 
erally there. 

Fhjkd.  {to  Antipho.)  Let’s  call  the  fellow  back. 

Ant.  (calling  out.)  Stop,  this  instant. 

Geta  {turning  j'ound.)  Heyday — with  authority  enough, 
whoever  you  are. 

Ant.  Geta  I 

Geta.  The  very  person  I wanted  to  find. 

^ Be  washing  a brickbat) — Ver.  187.  “ Laterem  lavarc,”  ‘‘to  wash  a 
brick,”  or  “tile,”  was  a proverb  signifying  labor  in  vain,  probably  be- 
cause (if  the  brick  was  previously  baked)  it  was  impossible  to  wash  away 
the  red  color  of  it.  According  to  some,  the  saying  alluded  to  the  act 
( of  washing  a brick  which  had  been  only  dried  in  the  sun,  in  which  case 
the  party  so  doing  both  washed  away  the  brick  and  soiled  his  ov/n 
fingers. 


o 


314  PHORMIO ; OR,  [Act  I. 

Ant.  Pray,  tell  me  what  news  you  bring,  and  dispatch  it 
in  one  word,  if  you  can. 

Geta.  I’ll  do  so. 

Ant.  Out  with  it. 

Geta.  Just  now,  at  the  harbor 

Ant.  What,  my  father ? 

Geta.  You’ve  hit  it. 

Ant.  Ruined  outright ! 

Pii^D.  Pshaw! 

Ant.  What  am  I to  do  ? 

Ph^d.  {to  Geta.)  What  is  it  you  say  ? 

Geta.  That  I have  seen  his  father,  your  uncle. 

Ant.  How  amT,  wretch  that  I am,  now  to  find  a remedy 
for  this  sudden  misfortune  ? But  if  it  should  be  my  fortune, 
Phanium,  to  be  torn  away  from  you,  life  would  cease  to  be 
desirable. 

Geta.  Therefore,  Antipho,  since  matters  are  thus,  the  more 
need  have  you  to  be  on  your  guard ; fortune  helps  the  brave. 

Ant.  I am  not  myself. 

Geta.  But  just  now  it  is  especially  necessary  you  should 
be  so,  Antipho ; for  if  your  father  perceives  that  you  are 
alarmed,  he  will  think  that  you  have  been  guilty  of  some 
fault. 

Ph^d.  That’s  true. 

Ant.  I can  not  change. 

Geta.  What  would  you  do,  if  now  something  else  still  mor^ 
difficult  had  to  be  done  by  you  % . 

Ant.  As  I am  not  equal  to  this,  I should  be  still  less  so  to 
the  other. 

Geta.  This  is  doing  nothing  at  all,  Phaedria,  let’s  be  gone ; 
why  do  we  waste  our  time  here  to  no  purpose.  I shall  be 
off. 

Ph^d.  And  I too.  {They  move  as  if  going.) 

Ant.  Pray,  now,  if  I assume  an  air,  will  that  do?  {He 
endeavors  to  assume  another  air.) 

Geta.  You  are  trifling. 

Ant.  Look  at  my  countenance — there’s  for  you.  {Assum- 
ing a differe7it  air.)  Will  that  do  ? 

Geta.  No. 

Ant.  Well,  will  this  ? {Assuming  another  air.) 

Geta.  Pretty  well. 


Sc.  V.] 


THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


315 


Ant.  Well  then,  this?  {Assuming  a still  holder  air.) 

Geta.  That’s  just  the  thing.  There  now,  keep  to  that,  and 
answer  him  word  for  word,  like  for  like;  don’t  let  him,  in  his 
anger,  disconcert  you  with  his  blustering  words. 

Ant.  I understand. 

Geta.  Say  that  you  were  forced  against  your  will  by  law, 
by  sentence  of  the  court ; do  you  take  me  ? {Looking  earnest- 
ly in  one  direction.)  But  who  is  the  old  man  that  I see  at  the 
end  of  the  street  ? 

Ant.  ’Tis  he  himself.  I can  not  stand  it.  {Going,) 

Geta.  Oh!  What  are  you  about?  Whither  are  you  go- 
ing, Antipho?  Stop,  I tell  you. 

Ant.  I know  my  own  self  and  my  offense ; to  your  man- 
agement I trust  Phanium  and  my  own  existence. 

{Exit  hastily. 

Scene  Y. 

Pii^DKiA  and  Geta. 

Ph^d.  Geta,  what’s  to  be  done  now  ? 

Geta.  You  will  just  hear  some  harsh  language : I shall  be 
trussed  up  and  trounced,  if  I am  not  somewhat  mistaken. 
But  what  we  were  just  now  advising  Antipho  to  do,  the  same 
we  must  do  ourselves,  Phsedria. 

Ph^ed.  Away  with  your  musts  rather  do  you  command 
me  what  I am  to  do. 

Geta.  Do  you  remember  what  were  your  words  formerly 
on  our  entering  upon  this  project,  with  the  view  of  protecting 
yourselves  from  ill  consequences — that  their  cause  was  just, 
clear,  unanswerable,  and  most  righteous  ? 

Ph.<ed.  I remember  it. 

Geta.  Well  then,  now  there’s  need  of  that  idea^  or  of  one 
still  better  and  more  plausible,  if  such  there  can  be. 

Pii^D.  I’ll  use  my  best  endeavors. 

Geta.  Do  you  then  accost  him  first ; I’ll  be  here  in  re- 
serve,^ by  way  of  reinforcement,  if  you  give  ground  at  all. 

Ph^d..  Very  well.  {They  retire  to  a distance,) 

^ Here  in  reserve) — Ver.  230.  “ Succenturiatus.”  The  “succentu- 
riati”  were,  properly,  men  intrusted  to  fill  up  vacancies  in  the  centuries 
or  companies,  when  thinned  by  battle. 


316 


PIIORMIO;  OR, 


[Act  I. 


Scene  VI. 

Enter  Demipho,  at  the  other  side  of  the  stage. 

Dem.  {to  himself.)  And  is  it  possible  that  Antipho  has 
taken  a wife  without  my  consent'?  and  that  no  authority  of 
mine — but  let  alone  authority”^ — no  displeasure  of  mine,  at 
all  events,  has  he  been  in  dread  of*?  To  have  no  sense  of 
shame ! O audacious  conduct ! O Geta,  rare  adviser ! 

Get  A {apart  to  Ph^dria.)  Just  brought  in  at  last. 

Dem.  What  will  they  say  to  me,  or  what  excuse  will  they 
find'?  I wonder  much. 

Geta  {apart.)  Why,  I’ve  found  that  out  already ; do  think 
of  something  else. 

Dem.  Will  he  be  saying  this  to  me : I did  it  against  my 
will ; the  law  compelled  me?”  I hear  ijoii^  and  admit  it. 

Geta  {apart.)  Well  said! 

Dem.  But  knowingly,  in  silence,  to  give  up  the  cause  to  his 
adversaries — did  the  law  oblige  him  to  do  that  as  well  ? 

Geta  {apart.)  That  is  a hard  blow. 

Ph^d.  I’ll  clear  that  up ; let  me  alone  for  that. 

Dem.  It  is  a matter  of  doubt  what  I am  to  do ; for  beyond 
expectation,  and  quite  past  all  belief,  has  this  befallen  me. 
So  enraged  am  I,  that  I can  not  compose  my  mind  to  think 
upons  it.  Wherefore  it  is  the  duty  of  all  persons,  when  af- 
fairs are  the  most  prosperous,^  then  in  especial  to  reflect 
within  themselves  in  what  way  they  are  to  endure  adversity. 
Peturning  from  abroad,  let  him  always  picture  to  himself 
dangers  and  losses,  either  offenses  committed  by  a son,,  or 
the  death  of  his  wife,  or  the  sickness  of  a daughter, — that 
these  things  are  the  common  lot,  so  that  no  one  of  them  may 
ever  come  as  a surprise  upon  his  feelings.  Whatever  falls 
out  beyond  his  hopes,  all  that  he  must  look  upon  as  so  much 
gain. 

^ Let  alone  authority'^) — Ver.  232.  ‘‘Ac  mitto  imperium.”  Cicero 
has  quoted  this  passage  in  his  Epistles  to  Atticus,  B.  ii.  Ep.  19. 

' When  affairs  are  the  most  prosperous) — Ver.  241.  Cicero  quotes  this 
passage  in  the  Third  Book  of  his  Tiisculan  Questions,  and  the  maxim 
here  inculcated  was  a favorite  one  with  the  Stoic  philosophers. 


Sc.  VL] 


THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


317 


Geta  (apart)  O Phaedria,  it  is  incredible  how  much  I 
surpass  my  master  in  wisdom.  All  my  misfortunes  have 
been  already  calculated  upon  by  me,  upon  my  master  coming 
home.  I must  grind  at  the  mill,  be  beaten,  wear  fetters,  be 
set  to  work  in  the  fields ; not  one  individual  thing  of  these 
will  happen  unexpected  by  my  mind.  Whatever  falls  out 
beyond  my  expectations,  all  that  I shall  look  upon  as  so 
much  gain.  But  why  do  you  hesitate  to  accost  him,  and 
soften  him  at  the  outset  with  fair  words'?  (PiIJEdria  goes 
forward  to  accost  Demipho.) 

Dem.  (to  himself,)  I see  Phjedria,  my  brother’s  son,  coming 
toward  me. 

Pn^D.  My  uncle,  welcome  ! 

Dem.  Greetings  to  you;  but  where  is  Antipho'? 

Pii^D.  That  you  have  arrived  in  safety 

Dem.  I believe  it ; answer  my  question. 

PiiiED.  He  is  well ; he’s  close  at  hand ; but  is  every  thing 
quite  to  your  wishes  ? 

Dem.  I wish  it  was  so,  indeed. 

pHiED.  What’s  the  matter*? 

Dem.  Do  you  ask  me,  Phaedria  ? You  people  have  cooked 
up  a fine  marriage  in  my  absence. 

Ph^d.  What  now,  are  you  angry  with  him  for  that  ? 

Geta  (apart)  What  a clever  contriver ! 

Dem.  Have  I not  reason  to  be  angry  with  him  ? I long 
for  him  to  come  into  my  sight,  that  he  may  know  that 
through  his  faultiness,  from  being  a mild  father,  I am  become 
a most  severe  one. 

Ph^d.  But  he  has  done  nothing,  uncle,  for  which  you 
should  blame  him. 

Dem.  Now,  do  look  at  that ; all  alike ; all  hanging  to- 
gether ; when  you  know  one,  you  know  all. 

Pha^d.  That  is  not  the  case. 

Dem.  When  the  one  is  in  fault,  the  other  is  at  hand  to  de- 
fend him  ; when  it  is  the  other,  then  he  is  ready ; they  just 
help  one  another  by  turns. 

Geta  (apart)  The  old  man,  without  knowing  it,  has  ex- 
actly described  their  proceedings. 

Dem.  For  if  it  had  not  been  so,  you  would  not,  Phsedria, 
have  stood  up  for  him. 

Pii.^D.  If,  uncle,  it  is  the  fact,  that  Antipho  has  been 


318 


PIIOIiMlO;  OK, 


[Act  I. 


guilty  of  any  fault,  in  consequence  of  which  he  has  been  too- 
regardless  of  his  interest  or  his  reputation,  I would  not  allege 
any  reason  why  he  should  not  suffer  what  he  deserves.  But 
if  some  one  by  chance,  relying  upon  his  own  artfulness,  has 
laid  a snare  for  our  youthful  age,  and  has  succeeded,  is  it 
our  fault  or  that  of  the  judges,  who  often,  through  envy,  take 
away  from  the  rich,  or,  through  compassion,  award  to  the 
poor  % 

Geta  {ajoari.)  Unless  I knew  the  case,  I could  fancy  he 
was  saying  the  truth. 

Dem.  Is  there  any  judge  who  can  possibly  know  your 
rights,  when  you  yourself  don’t  answer  a word — as  he  has 
done  ? 

PiiiED.  lie  acted  the  part  of  an  ingenuous  young  man ; 
after  they  had  come  before  the  judges,  he  was  not  able  to  say 
what  he  had  intended,  so  much  did  his  modesty  confuse  him 
there  through  his  bashfulness. 

Geta  (apaii,)  I commend  him : but  v/hy  do  I hesitate  at 
once  to  accost  the  old  man?  {Going  forward  to  Demipho.) 
Master,  welcome  to  you ! I’m  glad  to  see  you  safe  returned. 

Dem.  {ironically.)  Ah,  excellent  guardian ! save  you,  stay 
of  my  family,  no  doubt,  to  whom,  at  my  departure,  I intrusted 
my  son. 

Geta.  For  some  minutes  past  I’ve  heard  you  accusing  all 
of  us  undeservedly;  and  me  the  most  undeservedly  of  them 
all ; for  what  would  you  have  had  me  do  for  you  in  this  af- 
fair? The  laws  do  not  allow  a person  who  is  a slave  to 
plead  ; nor  is  there  any  giving  evidence^  on  his  part. 

Dem.  I grant  all  that : I admit  this  too — the  young  man, 
unused  to  courts,  was  bashful ; I allow  it : you,  too^  are  a 
slave:  still,  if  she  was  ever  so  near  a relative,  it  was  not 
necessary  for  him  to  marry  her,  but  as  the  law  enjoins,  you 
might  have  given  her  a portion  she  could  have  looked  out 
for  another  husband.  Why,  then,  in  preference,  did  fie  bring 
a pauper  home? 

* A ny  giving  evidence) — Ycr.  293.  Slaves  were  neither  allowed  to  plead 
for  themselves,  nor  to  give  evidence.  See  the  Curenlio  of  Plautus,  1. 
G21,  and  the  Notes  to  the  Andria. 

^ Given  her  a portion) — Yer.  297.  By  this  remark,  Donatus  observes 
that  Terence  artfully  prepares  us  for  the  imposition  of  Phormio,  who 
extorts  money  from  the  old  gentleman  on  this  very  ground. 


Sc.  VII.] 


THE  SCHEMING  TARASITE. 


319 


Geta.  No  pariiculav  reason  ; but  he  hadn’t  the  money. 

Dem.  He  might  have  borrowed  it  from  some  person  or 
other. 

Geta.  From  some  person  or  other?  Nothing  more  easily 
said. 

Dem.  After  all,  if  on  no  other  terms,  on  interest. 

Geta.  Aye,  aye,  fine  talking;  as  if  any  one  would  have 
trusted  him,  while  you  were  living.^ 

Dem.  No,  it  shall  not  be  so ; it  must  not  be.  Ought  I to 
allow  her  to  remain  with  him  as  his  wife  a single  day  ? She 
merits  no  indulgence.  I should  like  this  fellow  to  be  pointed 
out  to  me,  or  to  be  shown  where  he  lives. 

G^ta.  Phormio,  do  you  mean  ? 

Dem.  That  fellow,  the  woman’s  next  friend?- 

Geta.  I’ll  have  him  here  immediately. 

Dem.  Where  is  Antipho  at  present  ? 

Geta.  Away  from  home. 

Dem.  Go,  Phsedria,  look  for  him,  and  bring  him  here. 

Ph^d.  I’ll  go  straightway  to  the  place. 

Geta  (aside,)  To  Pamphila,  you  mean. 

(Exeunt  Piitedria  and  Geta. 


Scene  YII. 

Demipho,  alone. 

Dem.  (to  himself.)  I’ll  just  step  home  to  salute  the  house- 
hold Gods.^  From  there.  I’ll  go  to  the  Forum,  and  sum- 

^ While  you  were  living) — Vev.  302.  There  was  a law  at  Athens  which 
enacted  that  persons  who  lent  money  to  young  men  in  the  lifetime  of 
their  parents  should  have  no  power  to  recover  it.  In  line  303  of  the 
Pseudolus,  Plautus  alludes  to  the  Quinavicenarian  orLaetorian  Law,  at 
Rome,  which  forbade  credit  to  be  given  to  persons  under  the  age  of 
twenty-five  years,  and  deprived  the  creditor  of  all  right  to  recover  his 
money  or  goods. 

^ The  woman's  next  friend) — Yer.  307.  The  patronus”  was  the  per- 
son who  undertook  to  conduct  a lawsuit  for  another. 

^ Salute  the  household  Gods) — Ver.  311.  It  was  the  custom  for  those 
returning  from  a voyage  or  journey,  to  give  thanks  to  their  household 
Gods  for  having  protected  them  in  their  absence.  Thus,  in  the  Am- 
phitryon of  Plautus,  Jupiter,  while  personating  Amphitryon,  pretends, 
in  1.  983,  that  he  is  going  to  offer  sacrifice  for  his  safe  return. 


320 


PHORMIO ; OR, 


[Act  II. 


mon  some  of  my  friends  to  give  me  their  assistance  in  this  af- 
fair ; so  that  I may  not  be  unprepared,  when  Phormio  comes. 
( Goes  into  his  house.) 


ACT  TPIE  SECOND. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Phormio  and  Geta. 

Phor.  And  so  you  say’  that,  dreading  his  father’s  presence, 
he  has  taken  himself  ofP? 

Geta.  Exactly  so. 

Phor.  That  Phanium  is  left  alone  ? 

Geta.  Just  so. 

Phor.  And  that  the  old  man  is  in  a rage  % 

Geta.  Extremely  so. 

Phor.  The  whole  business,  Phormio,  rests  on  yourself 
alone ; you  yourself  Lave  hashed  it  up  it  must  all  be  swal- 
lowed by  Yourself,^  so  set  about  it. 

Geta.  I entreat  you 

Phor.  {to  himself.)  If  he  inquires. 

Geta.  In  you  is  all  our  hope. 

Phor.  {to  himself)  Look  at  this,  now: — ^What  if  he  sends 
her  back  ? 

Geta.  It  was^you  that  urged  us. 


‘ And  so  you  say) — Ver.  315.  Donatus  tells  the  following  story  with 
reference  to  this  passage  : “ This  Play  being  once  rehearsed  before  Ter- 
ence and  some  of  his  most  intimate  acquaintances,  Ambivius,  who  act- 
ed the  part  of  Phormio,  came  in  drunk,  which  threw  the  author  into  a 
violent  passion  ; but  Ambivius  had  scarcely  repeated  a few  lines,  stam- 
mering and  scratching  his  head,  before  Terence  became  pacified,  de- 
claring that  when  he  was  writing  these  very  lines,  he  had  exactly  such 
a Parasite  as  Ambivius  then  represented,  in  his  thoughts,” 

^ Have  hashed  it  vp) — Ver.  318.  He  is  thought  to  allude  here,  figura- 
tively, to  the  composition  of  a dish  called  “ moretiim,”  (in  praise  of 
w^hich  Virgil  wrote  a poem,)  which  was  composed  of  garlic,  onions, 
cheese,  eggs,  and  other  ingredients,  beaten  up  in  a mortar.  The  allu- 
sion to  eating  is  appropriately  used  in  an  address  to  a Parasite. 


Sc.  1.] 


'IIIE  SCIIE.MIXG  PAEASITE. 


321 


PiiOR.  {to  Jtvniself.)  I think  that  will  do. 

Geta.  Do  help  us. 

PiiOK.  {with  alacrity.)  Let  the  old  gentleman  come ; all  my 
plans  are  now  ready  prepared  in  my  mind. 

Geta.  What  will  you  do  % 

Phor.  What  would  you  have  me?  But  that  Plianium 
may  continue  with  him.,  and  that  I may  clear  Antipho  from 
this  charge,  and  turn  upon  myself^  all  the  wrath  of  the  old 
gentleman  ? 

Geta.  O brave  and  kind  man ! But,  Phormio,  I often 
dread  lest  this  courage  may  end  in  the  stocks  at  last.^ 

Phor.  Oh,  by  no  means  ; I’ve  made  trial,  and  have  already 
pondered  on  the  paths  for  my  feet.  How  many  men  before 
to-day  do  you  suppose  I have  beaten,  even  to  death,  strangers 
as  well  as  citizens : the  better  I understand  it,  the  oftener  I 
try  it.  Just  tell  itie,  look  you,  did  you  ever  hear  of  an  action 
of  damages  being  brought  against  me  ? 

Geta.  How  is  that  ? 

Phor.  Because  the  net  is  never  spread  for  the  hawk  or 
the  kite,  that  do  us  the  mischief;  it  is  spread  for  those  that 
do  us  none:  because  in  the  last  there  is  profit,  while  with 
the  others  it  is  labor  lost.  For  persons,  out  of  whom  any 
thing  can  be  got,  there’s  risk  from  others ; they  know  that 
I’ve  got  nothing.  You  will  say : ‘‘  They  will  take  you,^ 
when  sentenced,  into  their  house they  have  no  wish  to 
maintain  a devouring  fellow ; and,  in  my  opinion,  they  are 
wise,  if  for  an  injury  they  are  unwilling  to  return  the  highest 
benefits. 


^ Turn  upon  myself) — Ver.  323.  Donatus  observes  that  in  this  Scene 
Terence  exhibits  the  lower  order  of  Parasites,  who  ingratiated  them- 
selves by  sharping  and  roguery,  as  in  the  Eunuchus  he  describes  Para- 
sites of  a higher  rank,  and  of  a newer  species,  who  obtained  their  ends 
b}’’  flattery. 

^ In  the  stocks  at  last) — Ver.  325.  ‘‘In  nervum  crmnpat  denique.” 
There  are  several  interpretations  suggested  for  these  words.  Some 
think  they  allude  to  the  drawing  of  a bow  till  it  breaks  ; but  they  are 
more  generally  thought  to  imply  termination  in  corporal  punishment. 
“ Nervus”  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  name  of  a kind  of  stocks  used 
in  torturing  slaves,  and  so  called  from  being  formed,  in  j)art  at  least,  of 
the  sinews  of  animals. 

^ They  loill  take  you) — ^Ver.  334.  At  Rome,  insolvent  debtors  became 
the  slaves  of  their  creditors  till  their  debts  were  paid. 

02 


322  ri-IORMIO;  OK,  [Act  II. 

Geta.  It’s  impossible  that  sufficient  thanks  can  be  returned 
you  by  him  for  your  kindness. 

PiiOK.  Why  no  ; no  person  can  return  thanks  sufficient  to 
his  patron^  for  his  kindness.  For  you  to  take  your  place  at 
table  at  free  cost,'-^  anointed  and  just  washed  at  the  bath,  with 
your  mind  at  ease,  whereas  he  is  devoured  with  the  care  and 
expense : while  every  thing  is  being  done  to  give  you  delight, 
he  is  being  vexed  at  heart ; you  are  laughing  away,  first  to 
drink, ^ take  the  higher  place ; a banquet  full  of  doubts^  is 
placed  before  you 

Geta.  What  is  the  meaning  of  that  expression  ? 

Phor.  When  you  are  in  doubt  which  in  especial  to  par- 
take of.  When  you  enter  upon  a consideration  how  delicious 
these  things  are,  and  how  costly  they  are,  the  person  who  pro- 
vides them,  must  you  not  account  him  a very  God — neither 
more  nor  less  ? 

Geta.  The  old  man  is  coming  ; take  care  what  you  are 
about ; the  first  onset  is  the  fiercest ; if  you  stand  that,  then, 
afterward,  you  may  play  just  as  you  please.  {They  retire  to  a 
distance.) 


Scene  II. 

Enter,  at  a distance,  Demipho,  Hegio,  Cratinus,  and  Crito, 
following  Mm. 

Dem.  Well  now — did  you  ever  hear  of' an  injury  being 
done  to  any  person  in  a more  affronting  manner  than  this  has 
to  me  ? Assist  me,  I do  beg  of  you. 

Geta  {apart.)  He’s  in  a passion. 

’ To  Ms  patron) — Yer.  338.  “Regi.”  The  Parasites  were  in  the 
liabit  of  calling  their  patron  “Rex,”  their  “King.” 

^ At  free  cost) — Yer.  339.  “ Asymbolum.”  Without  having  paid  his 
“ symbola,”  or  “ club,”  for  the  entertainment.  Donatus  informs  us  that 
the  whole  of  this  passage  is  borrowed  from  one  of  Ennius,  which  is  still 
preserved. 

^ First  to  drink) — Yer.  342.  To  be  the  first  to  drink,  and  to  take  the 
higher  place  on  the  couch  when  eating,  was  the  privilege  of  the  most 
honored  guests,  who  usually  bathed,  and  were  then  anointed  before  the 
repast. 

^ Banquet  full  of  doubts) — Yer.  342.  “Coena  dubia.”  Horace,  who 
borrows  many  of  his  phrases  from  Terence,  uses  the  same  expression. 


Sc.  II.] 


THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE.  323 

Phor.  {apart.)  Do  you  mind  your  cue ; I’ll  rouse  him  just 
now.  {Stepping  forward  and  crying  aloud.)  Oh  immortal 
Gods!  does  Deniipho  deny  that  Phanium  here  is  related  to 
him  ? 

Geta.  He  does  deny  it. 

Dem.  \to  his  friends.)  I believe  it  is  the  very  man  I was 
speaking  about.  Follow  me.  {They  all  come  forward.) 

Phor.  {to  Geta.)  And  that  he  knows  who  her  father 
was  ? 

Geta.  He  does  deny  it. 

Phor.  And  that  he  knows  v/ho  Stilpho  was  ? 

Geta.  He  does  deny  it. 

Phor.  Because  the  poor  thing  was  left  destitute,  her  father 
is  disowned  ; she  herself  is  slighted : see  what  avarice  does. 

Geta  {in  a loud  voice.)  If  you  are  going  to  accuse  my  mas- 
ter of  avarice,  you  shall  hear  what  you  won’t  like. 

Dem.  Oh,  the  impudence  of  the  fellow  ! Does  he  come  on 
purpose  to  accuse  me  ? 

Phor.  For  really,  I have  no  reason  why  I should  be  of- 
fended at  the  young  man,  if  he  did  not  know  him ; since  that 
person,  when  growing  aged  and  poor,  and  supporting  himself 
by  his  labor,  generally  confined  himself  to  the  country ; there 
he  had  a piece  of  land  from  my  father  to  cultivate ; full  oft, 
in  the  mean  time,  did  the  old  man  tell  me  that  this  kinsman 
of  his  neglected  him  : but  what  a man?  The  very  best  I ever 
saw  in  all  my  life. 

Geta  {in  a loud  voice.)  Look  to  yourself  as  well  as  to  him, 
how  you  speak. 

Phor.  {with  affected  indignation.)  Away,  to  utter  perdition, 
with  you.  For  if  I had  not  formed  such  an  opinion  of  him,  I 
should  never  have  incurred  such  enmity  with  your  family  on 
lier  account,  whom  he  now  slights  in  such  an  ungenerous 
manner. 

Geta  {aloud.)  What,  do  you  persist  in  speaking  abusively 
of  my  master  in  his  absence,  you  most  abominable  fellow  ? 

Phor.  Why,  it’sji^s^  wdiat  he  deserves. 

Geta  {aloudi)  Say  you  so,  you  jail-bird? 

Dem.  {calling  aloud.)  Geta ! 

Geta  {aloud.)  A plunderer  of  people’s  property — a per- 
vert er  of  the  laws ! 

Dem.  {calling  aloud.)  Geta  ! 


324 


FHORxMIO;  OK, 


[Act  II. 


Phok.  {apart^  in  a low  voice.)  Answer  him. 

Geta.  Who  is  it?  {Looking  round.)  Oh! 

Dem.  Hold  your  peace. 

Geta.  He  has  never  left  off  uttering  abuse  against  you  be- 
hind your  back,  unworthy  of  you,  and/w^j^  befitting  himself. 

Dem.  Well  now,  have  done.  {Addressing  Viiomiio.)  Young 
man,  in  the  first  place,  with  your  good  leave,  I ask  you  this, 
if  you  may  possibly  be  pleased  to  give  me  an  answer : explain 
to  me  who  this  friend  of  yours  was,  that  you  speak  of,  and 
how  he  said  that  he  was  related  to  me. 

PiiOK.  {sneeringhj.)  You  are  fishing  it  out,  just  as  if  you 
didn't  know. 

Dem.  I,  know? 

Phor.  Yes. 

Dem.  I say  I do  not ; you,  who  affirm  it,  recall  it  to  my 
recollection. 

Phor.  Come  now,  didn’t  you  know  your  own  cousin-ger- 
inan  ? 

Dem.  You  torture  me  to  death;  tell  me  his  name. 

PuoR.  His  name? 

Dem.  Of  course.  (Pjiormio  hesitates.)  Why  are  you  silent 
now  ? 

PnoR.  {aside.)  Heavens,  I’m  undone ; I’ve  forgot  the 
name. 

Dem.  Well,  what  do  you  say  ? 

Phor.  {aside,  to  Geta.)  Geta,  if  you  recollect  the  name  I 
told  you  a short  time  since,  prompt  me.  {Aloud,  to  Demipho.) 
Well  then,  I sha’n’t  tell  you ; as  if  you  didn’t  know,  you  come 
to  pump  me. 

Dem.  I,  come  to  pump  you,  indeed  ? 

Geta  {whispering  to  Piiormio.)  Stilpho. 

Phor.  But,  after  all,  what  matters  that  to  me?  It  is 
Stilpho. 

Dem.  Whom  did  you  say  ? 

Phor.  Stilpho,  I tell  you;  you  knew  him. 

Dem.  I neither  know  him,  nor  had  I ever  any  relation  of 
that  name. 

Phor.  Say  you  so?  Are  you  not  ashamed  of  this ? But 
if  he  had  left  you  ten  talents 

Dem.  May  the  Gods  confound  you  ! 

Phor.  You’d  liavc  been  the  first,  from  memory,  to  trace 


Sc.  II.] 


THE  SCHExMlNG  PAHASITE. 


:325 


your  line  of  kindred,  even  as  far  back  as  from  grandfather  and 
great-grandfather. 

Dem.  Very  likely  what  you  say.  In  that  case,  when  I had 
undertaken  it,  I should  have  shown  how  she  was  related  to 
me ; do  you  do  the  same : tell  me,  how  is  she  related  to  me  ? 

Geta.  Well  done,  my  master , that’s  right!  {Threateninghj 
to  Phormio.)  Hark  you,  take  you  care. 

Phor.  I’ve  already  made  the  matter  quite  plain  where  I 
ought,  before  the  judges;  besides,  if  it  was  untrue,  why  didn’t 
your  son  disprove  it? 

Dem.  Do  you  talk  about  my  son  to  me  ? Of  whose  folly 
there  is  no  speaking  in  the  language  it  deserves. 

PiiOR.  Then  do  you,  who  are  so  wise,  go  to  the  magistrates, 
that  for  you  they  may  give  a second  decision  in  the  same  cause, 
since  you  reign  alone^  here^  and  are  the  only  man  allowed  to 
get  a second  trial  in  the  same  cause. 

Dem.  Although  wrong  has  been  done  mo,  still,  however, 
rather  than  engage  in  litigation,  or  listen  to  you,  just  as 
though  she  had  been  my  relation,  as  the  law  orders  one  to 
find  her  a portion,  rid  me  of  her,  and  take  five  mina?. 

Phor.  {laughing,)  Ha,  ha,  ha ! a pleasant  individual ! 

Dem.  Well ! am  I asking  any  thing  unfair?  Or  am  I not 
to  obtain  even  this,  which  is  my  right  at  common  law  ? 

Phor.  Pray,  really  is  it  so,  that  when  you  have  abused 
her  like  a courtesan,  the  law  orders  you  to  pay  her  hire  and 
pack  her  off?  Or  is  it  the  fact,  that  in  order  that  a citi- 
zen may  bring  no  disgrace  upon  herself  through  poverty,  she 
has  been  ordered  to  be  given  to  her  nearest  relative,  to  pass 
her  life  with  him  alone?  A thing  which  you  mean  to  pre- 
vent. 

Dem.  Yes,  to  her  nearest  relative,  indeed;  but  why  to  ns, 
or  on  what  ground  ? 

Phor.  Well,  well,  a thing  tried,  they  say,  you  can’t  try 
over  again. 

Dem.  Not  try  it  ? On  the  contrary,  I shall  not  desist  until 
I have  gone  through  with  it. 

Phor.  You  are  trifling. 

^ Since  you  reign  alone) — Ver.  605.  This  is  a remark  well  put  into  the 
mouth  of  an  Athenian,  as  the  public  were  very  jealous  of  any  person 
becoming  paramount  to  the  laws,  and  to  prevent  it,  were  frequenth' 
guilty  of  the  most  odious  oppression. 


32G 


PilORMlO;  OR, 


[Act  Jf. 


Dem.  Only  let  me  alone  for  that 

Phoh.  In  short,  Demiplio,  I have  nothing  to  do  with  you  ; 
your  son  has  been  cast,  and  not  you  ; for  your  time  of  life  for 
marrying  has  now  gone  by. 

Dem.  Consider  that  it  is  he  that  says  to  you  all  I now  say, 
or  else  assuredly,  together  with  this  wife  of  his^  I’ll  be  forbid- 
ding him  the  house. 

Geta  {aside,)  He’s  in  a passion. 

Phor.  You’ll  be  acting  more  considerately. 

Dem.  Are  y^ou  so  resolved,  you  unlucky  fellow,  to  do  me 
all  the  mischief  you  can  ? 

Phor.  {aside,  to  Geta.)  He’s  afraid  of  us,  altliough  he’s  so 
careful  to  conceal  it. 

Geta  {aside,  to  IhioRMio.)  Your  beginning  has  turned  out 
well. 

Phor.  But  if,  on  the  contrary,  you  endure  v/hat  must  be 
endured,  y^ou’ll  be  doing  what’s  worthy^  of  you,  so  that  we 
may  be  on  friendly  terms. 

Dem.  {indignantly.)  What,  I seek  y^our  friendship,  or  have 
any  wish  to  see  or  hear  you  ? 

Phor.  If  you  can  agree  witli  her,  you  will  have  some  one 
to  cheer  up  your  old  age;  just  consider  your  time  of  life. 

Dem.  Let  her  cheer  up  yourself;  keep  her  to  yourself. 

Phor.  Eeally-,  do  moderate  your  passion. 

Dem.  Mark  what  I say.  There  have  been  words  enough 
already^ ; if  you  don’t  make  haste  to  fetch  away  the  woman, 
I shall  turn  her  out : I have  said  it,  Phormio. 

Phor.  If  you  use  her  in  any  other  manner  than  is  befitting 
a free-born  woman,  I shall  be  bringing  a swinging  action 
against  y^ou  : I have  said  it,  Demipho.  {To  Geta.)  Hark  you, 
if  there  should  be  any  occasion  for  me,  I shall  be  at  home. 

Geta  {apart)  I understand  you.  {Exit  Phormio. 

Scene  HI. 

Demipho,  Hegio,  Cratinus,  Crito,  and  Geta. 

Dem.  What  care  and  anxiety  my  son  does  bring  upon  me, 
by  entangling  himself  and  me  in  this  same  marriage!  And 
he  doesn’t  so  much  as  come  into  my  sight,  that  at  least  I 
might  know  what  he  says  about  this  matter,  or  wlia^t  his 


THE  SC  lliTMlNCx  PARASITE. 


Sc.  111.] 


sentiments  are.  {To  Geta.)  Be  off,  go  see  whether  he  has 
returned  home  or  not  by  this. 

Geta.  I will.  {Goes  into  the  house.) 

Dem.  {to  the  Assistants.)  You  see  how  the  case  stands. 
What  am  I to  do  ? Tell  me,  Hegio. 

Heg.  What,  I ? I think  Cratinus  ought,  if  it  seems  good 
to  you. 

Dem.  Tell  me,  Cratinus. 

Crat.  What,  do  you  wish  me  to  speak  ? I should  like 
you  to  do  what  is  most  for  your  advantage ; it  is  my  opinion, 
that  what  this  son  of  yours  has  done  in  your  absence,  in  law 
and  justice  ought  to  be  annulled;  and  that  3'oiTll  obtain  re- 
dress. That’s  my  opinion. 

Dem.  Say  now,  Hegio. 

IIeg.  I believe  that  he  has  spoken  with  due  deliberation  ; 
but  it  is  the  fact,  ‘^as  many  men,  so  many  minds  every 
one  his  ov/n  way.  It  doesn’t  appear  to  me  that  what  has  been 
done  by  law  can  be  revoked;  and  it  is  wrong  to  attempt  it. 

Dem.  Speak,  Crito. 

Crit.  I am  of  opinion  tliat  we  must  deliberate  further  ;- 
it  is  a matter  of  importance. 

Heg.  Do  you  want  any  thing  further  witli  us? 

Dem.  You  have  done  very  well.  {Exeunt  Assistants.)  I 
am  much  more  at  a loss^  than  before. 

^ So  mamy  minds) — Ver.  454.  “Qnot  homines,  tot  sentcntiie.”  Tliis 
is  a famous  adage.  One  similar  to  the  succeeding  one  is  found  in  the 
Second  Eclogue  of  Virgil,  k 65 : “ Trahit  sua  quemque  voluptas,”  ex- 
actly equivalent  to  our  saying,  “ Every  man  to  his  taste.” 

“ Must  deliberate  further) — Ver.  457.  “ Amplius  deliberandum.”  This 
is  probably  a satirical  allusion  to  the  judicial  system  of  procrastination, 
which,  by  the  Romans,  was  called  ampliatio.”  When  the  judges  could 
not  come  to  a satisfactory  conclusion  about  a cause,  they  signified  it  by 
the  letters  N.  L.  (for  “non  liquet,”  ‘‘it  is  not  clear”),  and  put  off  the 
suit  for  a rehearing. 

^ Much  more  at  a loss) — Ver.  450.  See  the  Poenuhis  of  Plautus,  where 
advocates  or  assistants  are  introduced  among  the  Dramatic  Personai. 
Colman  has  the  following  remarks  on  this  quaint  passage:  “I  believe 
tliere  is  no  Scene  in  Comedy  more  highly  seasoned  with  the  ridiculous 
than  this  before  us.  The  idea  is  truly  comic,  and  it  is  worked  up  with 
all  that  simplicity  and  chastity  so  peculiar  to  the  manner  of  Terence, 
An  ordinary  writer  would  have  indulged  himself  in  twenty  little  conceits 
on  this  occasion ; but  the  dry  gravity  of  Terence  infinitely  surpasses,  as 
true  humor,  all  the  drolleries  which,  perhaps,  even  those  great  masters 


328 


PIIORMIO;  OR, 


[Act  II. 


Re-enter  Geta,  from  the  house. 

Geta.  They  say  tliat  he  has  not  come  back. 

Dem.  I must  wait  for  my  brother.  The  advice  that  he 
gives  me  about  this  matter,  I shall  follow.  I’ll  go  make  in- 
quiry at  the  harbor,  when  he  is  to  come  back.  {Exit, 

Geta.  And  I’ll  go  look  for  Antipho,  that  he  may  learn 
what  has  passed  here.  But  look,  I see  him  coming  this  way, 
just  in  the  very  nick  of  time. 


Scene  IV. 

Enter  Antipho,  at  a distance. 

Ant.  {to  himself.)  Indeed,  Antipho,  in  many  ways  you  are 
to  be  blamed  for  these  feelings ; to  have  thus  run  away,  and 
intrusted  your  existence  to  the  protection  of  other  people. 
Did  you  suppose  that  others  would  give  more  attention  to 
your  interests  than  your  own  self?  For,  however  other 
matters  stood,  certainly  you  should  have  thought  of  her 
whom  you  have  now  at  home,  that  she  might  not  suffer  any 
harm  in  consequence  of  her  confiding  in  you,  whose  hopes 
and  resources,  poor  thing,  are  all  now  centred  in  yourself 
alone. 

Geta  {coming  forward,)  Why  really,  master,  we  have  for 
some  time  been  censuring  you  here  in  your  absence,  for  hav- 
ing thus  gone  away. 

Ant.  You  are  the  very  person  I was  looking  for. 

Geta.  But  still,  we  were  not  a bit  the  more  remiss  on  that 
account. 

Ant.  Tell  me,  I beg  of  you,  in  what  posture  are  my  inter- 
ests and  fortunes.  Has  my  father  any  suspicion  ? 

Geta.  'Not  any  at  present. 

Ant.  Is  there  still  any  hope  ? 

Geta.  I don’t  know. 

Ant.  Alas ! 

of  Comedy,  Plautus  or  Moliere,  might  have  been  tempted  to  throw  out. 
It  is  the  highest  art  of  a Dramatic  Author,  on  some  occasions,  to  leave 
a good  deal  to  the  Actor;  and  it  has  been  remarked  by  Heinsius  and 
others,  that  Terence  was  jiarticularly  attentive  to  this  circumstance.” 


Sc.  V.]  THE  SCHExMING  rAKASlTE.  329 

Geta.  But  Fhgedria  lias  not  neglected  to  use  his  endeavors 
in  your  behalf. 

Ant.  He  did  nothing  new. 

Geta.  Then  Phormio,  too,  in  this  matter,  just  as  in  every 
thing  else,  showed  himself  a man  of  energy. 

Ant.  What  did  he  do? 

Geta.  With  his  words  he  silenced  the  old  man,  who  was 
very  angry. 

Ant.  Weil  done,  Phormio! 

Geta.  I,  too,  did  all  I could. 

Ant.  My  dear  Geta,  I love  you  all. 

Geta.  The  commencement  is  just  in  this  position,  as  I tell 
you : matters,  at  present,  are  going  on  "smoothly,  and  your  fa- 
ther intends  to  wait  for  your  uncle  till  he  arrives. 

Ant.  Why  him  ? 

Geta.  He  said  he  was  wishful  to  act  by  his  advice,  in  all 
that  relates  to  this  business. 

Ant.  How  greatly  now,  Geta,  I do  dread  my  uncle’s  safe 
arrival ! For,  according  to  his  single  sentence,  from  what  I 
hear,  I am  to  live  or  die. 

Geta.  Here  comes  Phaedria. 

Ant.  Where  is  he,  pray  ? 

Geta.  See,  he’s  coming  from  his  place  of  exercise.^ 

Scene  V. 

Enter  from  Domo’s  house,  Doric,  followed  hy  Ph^dria. 

Ph^d.  Prithee,  hear  me,  Dorio. 

Dor.  Pll  not  hear  you. 

Ph^d.  Only  a moment. 

Dor.  Let  me  alone. 

Ph^d.  Do  hear  what  I have  to  say. 

Dor.  Why  really  I am  tired  of  hearing  the  same  thing  a 
thousand  times  over. 

PhuED.  But  now,  I have  something  to  tell  you  that  you’ll 
hear  with  pleasure. 

Dor.  Speak  then;  I’m  listening. 

^ From  his  place  of  exercise) — Ver.  484.  ‘‘ Palasstra.’^  He  alludes  to 
the  Procurer’s  house  under  this  name. 


330  PHOKMIO ; OP,  [Act  II. 

Piiu^iD.  Can  I not  prevail  on  you  to  wait  for  only  three 
days?  Whither  are  you  going  now? 

Dor.  I was  wondering  if  you  had  any  thing  new  to  offer. 

Ant.  {apart,  to  Geta.)  I’m  afraid  for  this  Procurer,  lest — 

Geta  {apart,  to  Antipho.)  Something  may  befall  his  own 
safety.^ 

Ph^d.  You  don’t  believe  me  ? 

Dor.  You  guess  right. 

Ph.®d.  But  if  I pledge  my  word. 

Dor.  Nonsense! 

Pii^D.  You  will  have  reason  to  say  that  this  kindness  was 
well  laid  out  by  you  on  interest. 

Dor.  Stuff! 

Ph^ed.  Believe  me,  you  will  be  glad  you  did  so ; upon  my 
faith,  it  is  the  truth. 

Dor.  Mere  dreams ! 

PiiiED.  Do  but  try ; the  time  is  not  long. 

Dor.  The  same  story  over  again. 

PHii^:D.  You  ivill  he  my  kinsman,  my  father,  my  friend ; 
you 

Dor.  Now,  do  prate  on. 

Ph^d.  For  you  to  be  of  a disposition  so  harsh  and  inexor- 
able, that  neither  by  pity  nor  by  entreaties  can  you  be  soft- 
ened ! 

Dor.  For  you  to  be  of  a disposition  so  unreasonable  and 
so  unconscionable,  Phasdria,  that  you  can  be  talking  me  over 
with  fine  words, ^ and  be  for  amusing  yourself  with  what’s  my 
property  for  nothing ! 

Ant.  {apart,  to  Geta.)  I am  sorry  for  him. 

PiTiED.  {aside.')  Alas ! I feel  it  to  be  too  true. 

Geta  {apart,  to  Antipho.)  How  well  each  keeps  up  to  his 
character ! 

^ Befall  his  own  safety) — Yer.  490.  Overhearing  Phasdria  earnest  and 
determined,  and  the  Procurer  obstinate  and  inflexible,  Antipho  and 
Geta  join  in  apprehending  that  the  brutality  of  the  latter  may  provoke 
Phasdria  to  some  act  of  violence. 

^ With  fine  words) — Yer.  499.  “ Phaleratis  dictis.”  “ Phalersc”  were, 
properly,  the  silver  ornaments  with  which  horses  were  decked  out,  and 
being  only  for  show,  and  not  for  use,  gave  rise  to  this  saying.  “ Ductes” 
was  an  obscene  word,  and  not  likely  to  be  used  by  any  but  such  charac- 
ters as  Dorio. 


Sc.  V.] 


THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


331 


Pii^D.  (to  himself.)  And  would  that  this  misfortune  had 
not  befallen  me  at  a time  when  Antipho  was  occupied  with 
other  cares  as  well. 

Ant.  (coming  forward.)  Ah  Phaedria,  why,  what  is  the  mat- 
ter ? 

Pii.ED.  O most  fortunate  Antipho ! 

Ant.  What,  I? 

Ph^d.  To  have  in  your  possession  the  object  of  your  love, 
and  have  no  occasion  to  encounter  such  a nuisance  as  this. 

Ant.  What  I,  in  my  possession?  Why  yes,  as  the  saying 
is.  I’ve  got  a wolf  by  the  ears  for  I neither  know  how  to 
get  rid  of  her,  nor  yet  how  to  keep  her. 

Dor.  That’s  just  my  case  with  regard  to  him  (pointing  to 
Piredria). 

Ant.  (to  Doric.)  Aye,  aye,  don’t  you  show  too  little  of  the 
Procurer.  (To  Phaedria.)  What  has  he  been  doing ? 

Ph^d.  What,  he?  Acting  the  part  of  a most  inhuman 
fellow  ; been  and  sold  my  Pamphila. 

Geta.  What!  Sold  her? 

Ant.  Sold  her,  say  you  ? 

Pii^D^  Sold  her. 

Dor.  (ironicalhj.)  What  a shocking  crime — a wench  bought 
with  one’s  own  money! 

Pii^D.  I can  not  prevail  upon  him  to  wait  for  me  the  next 
three  days,  and  so  far  break  off  the  bargain  with  the  person, 
while  I get  the  money  from  my  friends,  which  has  been  prom- 
ised me;  if  I don’t  give  it  him  then,  let  him  not  wait  a single 
hour  longer. 

Dor.  Very  good. 

Ant.  It’s  not  a long  time  that  he  asks,  Dorio ; do  let  him 
prevail  upon  you ; he’ll  pay  you  two-fold  for  having  acted  to 
him  thus  obligingly. 

Dor.  Mere  words ! 

Ant.  Will  you  allow  Pamphila  to  be  carried  away  from 
this  place?  And  then,  besides,  can  you  possibly  allow  their 
love  to  be  severed  asunder? 

Dor.  Neither  I nor  you  cause  that. 

^ A wolf  hy  the  ears) — Yer.  505.  A proverbial  expression  which, 
according  to  Suetonius,  was  frequently  in  the  mouth  of  Tiberius 
Cicsar. 


332  rilOIiMlO ; Ol’v,  [Act  II. 

Geta.  May  all  the  Gods  grant  you  what  you  are  deserving 
of! 

Dor.  I have  borne  with  you  for  several  months  quite 
against  my  inclination ; promising  and  whimpering,  and  yet 
bringing  nothing ; now,  on  the  other  hand,  I have  found  one 
to  pay,  and  not  be  sniveling ; give  place  to  your  betters. 

Ant.  I’  faith,  there  surely  was  a day  named,  if  I remember 
right,  for  you  to  pay  him. 

Ph^d.  It  is  the  fact. 

Dor.  Do  I deny  it  % 

Ant.  Is  that  day  past,  then  ? 

Dor.  No  ; but  this  one  has  come  before  it. 

Ant.  Are  you  not  ashamed  of  your  perfidy  ? 

Dor.  Not  at  all,  so  long  as  it  is  for  my  interest. 

Geta.  Dunghill  I 

PiiAiD.  Dorio,  is  it  right,  pray,  for  you  to  act  thus? 

Dor.  It  is  my  way;  if  I suit  you,  make  use  of  me. 

• Ant.  Do  you  try;  to  trifle  with  him  {pointing  to  Ph^edria) 
in  this  manner? 

Dor.  Why  really,  on  the  contrary,  Antipho,  it’s  he  trifling 
with  me,  for  he  knew  me  to  be  a person  of  this  so^t;  I sup- 
posed him  to  be  quite  a different  man ; he  has  deceived  me ; 
I’m  not  a bit  different  to  him  from  what  I was  before.  But 
however  that  may  be.  I’ll  yet  do  this ; the  captain  has  said, 
that  to-morrow  morning  he  will  pay  me  the  money;  if  you 
bring  it  me  before  that,  Phaedria,  I’ll  follow  my  rule,  that  he 
is  the  first  served  who  is  the  first  to  pay.  Farewell ! {Goes 
into  his  house.) 


Scene  VI. 

Ph^dria,  Antipho,  and  Geta. 

Ph^d.  What  am  I to  do?  Wretch  that  I am  I where  am 
I now  in  this  emergency  to  raise  the  money  for  him,  /,  who 
am  worse  than  nothing?  If  it  had  been  possible  for  these 
three  days  to  be  obtained  of  him,  it  was  promised  me  by  then. 

Ant.  Geta,  shall  we  suffer  him  to  continue  thus  wretched, 
when  he  so  lately  assisted  me  in  the  kind  way  you  were  men- 
tioning? On  the  contrary,  why  not,  as  there’s  need  of  it,  try 
to  do  him  a kindness  in  return? 


Sc.  VI.J 


THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


333 


Geta.  For  my  part,  I’m  sure  it  is  hut  fair. 

Ant.  Come  then,  you  are  the  only  man  able  to  serve  him. 

Geta.  What  can  I do  ? 

Ant.  Procure  the  money. 

Geta.  I wish  I could ; but  where  it  is  to  come  from — tell 
me  that. 

Ant.  My  father  has  come  home. 

Geta.  I know  ; but  what  of  that  ? 

Ant.  Oh,  a word  to  the  wise^  is  quite  enough. 

Geta.  Is  that  it,  then  ? 

Ant.  Just  so. 

Geta.  Upon  my  faith,  you  really  do  give  me  fine  advice  ; 
out  upon  you!  Ought  I not  to  be  heartily  glad,  if  I meet 
with  no  mishap  through  your  marriage,  but  what,  in  addition 
to  that,  you  must  now  bid  me,  for  his  sake,  to  be  seeking  risk 
upon  risk  ? 

Ant.  ’Tis  true  what  he  says. 

Fh^d.  What ! am  I a stranger  to  you,  Geta  ? 

Geta.  I don’t  consider  you  so.  But  is  it  so  trifling  a mat- 
ter that  the  old  gentleman  is  now  vexed  with  us  all,  that 
we  must  provoke  him  still  more,  and  leave  no  room  for  en- 
treaty ? 

Ph^d.  Is  another  man  to  take  her  away  from  before  my 
eyes  to  some  unknown  spot Alas  ! speak  to  me  then,  Anti- 
pho,  and  look  upon  me  while  you  have  the  opportunity,  and 
while  I’m  present. 

Ant.  Why  so,  or  what  are  you  going  to  do?  Pray,  tell 
me. 

Pii^D.  To  whatever  part  of  the  world  she  is  borne  away, 
I’m  determined  to  follow  her  or  to  perish. 

Geta.  May  the  Gods  prosper  your  design!  Cautiously’s 
the  word,  however. 

Ant.  {to  Geta.)  Do  see  if  you  can  give  him  any  assistance 
at  all. 

Geta.  Any  at  all — how? 

Ant.  Pray,  do  try,  that  he  mayn’t  be  doing  something  that 
we  may  afterward  be  more  or  less  sorry  for,  Geta. 

Geta.  I’m  considering.  {He  pauses.)  He’s  all  safe,  so  far 
as  I can  guess : but  still,  I’m  afraid  of  mischief. 

^ A word  to  the  Ycr.  540.  “Dictum  sapienti  sat  est.”  The 

same  proverb  is  fcnnd  in  the  Pcrsa  cf  Plautus,  1.  736. 


334  PHORMIO ; OR,  [Act  III. 

Ant.  Don’t  bo  afraid : together  with  you,  we’ll  share  good 
and  bad. 

Geta  {to  PiEEDUiA.)  How  miicli  money  do  you  want? 
Tell  me. 

Ph^d.  Only  thirty  mina3. 

Geta.  Thirty  ? Heyday ! she’s  monstrous  dear,  Phaedria. 
Ph^d.  Indeed,  she’s  very  cheap. 

Geta.  Well,  well.  I’ll  get  them  for  you. 

Ph^d.  Oh  the  dear  man ! {They  loth  fall  to  hugging 
Geta.) 

Geta.  Take  yourselves  off.  {ShaJces  them  off,) 

Pii^D.  There’s  need  for  them  directly. 

Geta.  You  shall  have  them  directly ; but  I must  have 
Pl'iorrnio  for  my  assistant  in  this  business. 

Ant.  He’s  quite  ready;  right  boldly  lay  on  him  any  load 
yuu  like,  he’ll  bear  it : he,  in  especial,  is  a friend  to  his  friend. 
Geta.  Let’s  go  to  him  at  once  then. 

Ant.  Will  you  have  any  occasion  for  my  assistance? 

Geta.  None ; but  be  off  home,  and  comfort  that  poor 
thing,  who  I am  sure  is  now  in-doors  almost  dead  with  fear. 
Do  you  linger? 

Ant.  There’s  nothing  I could  do  with  so  much  pleasure. 
(Goes  into  the  house  (^DEmpiiO.) 

Pn^D.  What  way  will  you  manage  this  ? 

Geta.  I’ll  tell  you  on  the  road  ; first  thing,  betake  your- 
self off.  {Exeunt, 


ACT  THE  THIRD. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Demipho  and  Ciiremes. 

Dem.  Well,  have  you  brought  your  daughter  with  you, 
Chremes,  for  whom  you  went  to  Lemnos? 

Chrem.  No. 

Dem.  Why  not  ? 

Chrem.  When  her  mother  found  that  I staid  here  longer 
than  usual,  and  at  the  same  time  the  age  of  the  girl  did  not 


Sc.  II.] 


THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


3S5 


suit  with  my  delays,  they  told  me  that  she,  with  all  her  fami- 
ly, set  out  in  search  of  me. 

Dem.  Pray,  then,  why  did  you  stay  there  so  long,  when  you 
had  heard  of  this  ? 

Chrem.  Why,  faith,  a malady  detained  me. 

Dem.  From  w^hat  cause  ? Or  what  ivas  it  ? 

Chrem.  Do  you  ask  me?  Old  age  itself  is  a malady. 
However,  I heard  that  they  had  arrived  safe,  from  the  cap> 
tain  who  brought  them. 

Dem.  Have  you  heard,  Chremes,  what  has  happened  to  my 
son  in  my  absence? 

Chrem.  ’Tis  that,  in  fact,  that  has  embarrassed  me  in  my 
plans.  For  if  I offei;  my  daughter  in  marriage  to  any  person 
that’s  a stranger,  it  must  all  be  told  how  and  by  whom  I 
had  her.  You  I knew  to  be  fully  as  faithful  to  me  as  I am 
to  myself;  if  a stranger  shall  think  fit  to  be  connected  with 
me  by  marriage,  he  will  hold  his  tongue,  just  as  long  as  good 
terms  exist  between  us : but  if  he  takes  a dislike  to  me,  he’ll 
be  knowing  more  than  it’s  proper  he  should  know.  I am 
afraid,  too,  lest  my  wife  should,  by  some  means,  come  to 
know  of  it ; if  that  is  the  case,  it  only  remains  for  me  to  shake 
myself^  and  leave  the  house ; for  I’m  the  only  one  I can  rely 
on  at  home.2 

Dem.  I know  it  is  so,  and  that  circumstance  is  a cause  of 
anxiety  to  me  ; and  I shall  never  cease  trying,  until  I’ve  made 
good  what  I promised  you. 


Scene  II. 

Eater  Geta,  on  the  other  side  of  the  stage ^ not  seeing  Demipho 
or  Chremes. 

Geta  {to  himself  ) I never  saw  a more  cunning  fellow  than 
this  Phormio.  I came  to  the  fellow  to  tell  him  that  money 

^ To  shake  myself ) — Ver.  585.  ‘‘ Me  excutiam.”  In  reference  to  the 
custom  of  the  Greeks,  and  the  Eastern  nations,  of  shaking  their  clothes 
at  the  door  of  any  house  which  they  were  going  to  leave. 

^ Rely  on  at  home) — Ver.  586.  ‘‘Nam  ego  meorum  solus  sum  mens.” 
He  means  that  he  is  the  only  person  in  his  house  friendly  to  himself, 
inasmuch  as  his  wife,  from  her  wealth,  has  supreme  power  over  the 
domestics,  in  whom  he  himself  can  place  no  trust. 


336 


PHORMIO;  OR, 


[Act  III. 


was  needed,  and  by  what  means  it  might  be  procured.  Hard- 
ly had  I said  one  half,  when  he  understood  me ; he  was  quite 
delighted  ; complimented  me ; asked  where  the  old  man  was ; 
gave  thanks  to  the  Gods  that  an  opportunity  was  afford- 
ed him  for  showing  himself  no  less  a friend  to  Phaedria  than 
to  Antipho : I bade  tbo  fellow  wait  for  me  at  the  Forum; 
whither  I would  bring  the  old  gentleman.  But  see,  here’s 
the  very  man  {catching  sight  of  the  Old  Man).  Who  is  the 
further  one?  Heyday,  Phaedria’s  father  has  got  back!  still, 
brute  beast  that  I am,  what  was  I afraid  of?  Is  it  because 
two  are  presented  instead  of  one  for  me  to  dupe?  I deem  it 
preferable  to  enjoy  a two-fold  hope.  I’ll  try  for  it  from  him 
from  whom  I first  intended : if  he  gives  it  me,  well  and  good ; 
if  I can  make  nothing  of  him,  then  I’ll  a’ttack  this  new-comer. 


Scene  III. 

Enter  Antipho the  house^  hehind  at  a distance. 

Ant.  {to  himself)  I’m  expecting  every  moment  that  Geta 
will  be  here.  But  I see  my  uncle  standing  close  by,  with  my 
father.  Ah  me  I how  much  I fear  what  influence  his  return 
may  have  upon  my  father ! 

Geta  {to  himself.)  I’ll  accost  them.  {Goes  up  to  them.)  O 
welcome  to  you,  our  neighbor  Chremes. 

Chrem.  Save  you,  Geta. 

Geta.  I’m  delighted  to  see  you  safe  returned. 

Chrem.  I believe  you. 

Geta.  Plow  go  matters  ? 

Chrem.  Many  changes  here  upon  my  arrival,  as  usually 
the  case. 

Geta.  True ; have  you  heard  what  has  happened  to  An- 
tipho ? 

Chrem.  All. 

Geta  {to  Demipiio.)  What,  have  you  told  him  ? Disgrace- 
ful conduct,  Chremes,  thus  to  be  imposed  on. 

Dem.  It  was  about  that  I was  talking  to  him  just  now. 

Geta.  But  really,  on  carefully  reflecting  upon  this  matter 
I think  I have  found  a remedy. 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


337 


Dem.  What  is  the  remedy? 

Geta.  When  I left  you,  by  accident  Phormio  met  me. 

CiiiiEM.  Who  is  Phormio  ? 

Geta.  He  who  2)citj^onized  her. 

Chrem.  I understand. 

Geta.  It  seemed  to  me  that  I might  first  sound  him  ; I 
took  the  fellow  aside  : ^‘Phormio,’’  said  I,  “why  don’t  we  try 
to  settle  these  matters  between  us  rather  with  a good  grace 
than  with  a bad  one  ? Mj/  master’s  a generous  man^  and  one 
who  hates  litigation ; but  really,  upon  my  faith,  all  his  friends 
were  just  now  advising  him  with  one  voice  to  turn  her  instant- 
ly out  of  doors.” 

Ant.  {aparL\  What  is  he  about?  Or  where  is  this  to  end 
at  last  ? 

Geta  {contimiing  the  supposed  conversation?)  “ He’ll  have  to 
give  satisfaction  at  law,  you  say,  if  he  turns  her  out  ? That 
lias  been  already  inquired  into : aye,  aye,  you’ll  have  enough 
to  do,  if  you  engage  with  him  ; he  is  so  eloquent.  But  sup- 
pose he’s  beaten  ; still,  however,  it’s  not  his  life,  but  his  mon- 
ey that’s  at  stake.”  After  I found  that  the  fellow  was  influ- 
enced by  these  words,  I said  : “We  are  now  by  ourselves  here  ; 
come  now,  what  should  you  like  to  be  given  you,  money  down, 
to  drop  this  suit  with  my  master,  so  that  she  may  betake  her- 
self off,  and  you  annoy  us  no  more  ?” 

Ant.  {apart.)  Are  the  Gods  quite  on  good  terms  with 
him  ?^ 

Geta  {continuing  the  conversation.)  “For  I’m  quite  sure,  if 
you  were  to  mention  any  thing  that’s  fair  and  reasonable,  as 
he  is  a reasonable  man,  you’ll  not  have  to  bandy  three  words 
with  him.’’ 

Dem.  Who  ordered  you  to  say  so  ? 

Chrem.  Nay,  he  could  not  have  more  happily  contrived  t<> 
bring  about  what  we  want. 

Ant.  {apart.)  Undone! 

Chrem.  Go  on  with  your  story. 

Geta.  At  first  the  fellow  raved. 

Dem.  Say,  what  did  he  ask  ? 

Geta.  What  ? A great  deal  too  much. 

^ Good  terms  with  him) — Yer.  635.  Meaning,  “l3  he  in  his  senses  or 
not?” 

P 


338 


PHORMIO;  OR, 


[Act  hi. 


CiiREM.  How  much  ? Tell  me. 

Geta.  Suppose  he  were  to  give  a great  talent. 

Dem.  Aye,  faith,  perdition  io  him  rather ; has  he  no  shame? 

Geta.  Just  what  I said  to  him  : ‘‘Pray,’'  said  I ^ “suppose 
he  was  portioning  an  only  daughter  of  his  own.  It  has  been 
of  little  benefit  that  he  hasn’t  one  of  his  own,  when  another 
has  been  found  to  be  demanding  a fortune.”  To  be  brief,  and 
to  pass  over  his  impertinences,  this  at  last  was  his  final  an- 
swer: “I,”  said  he,  “from  the  very  first,  have  been  desirous 
to  marry  the  daughter  of  my  friend,  as  was  fit  I should ; for  I 
was  aware  of  the  ill  results  of  this,  a poor  wife  being  married 
into  a rich  family,  and  becoming  a slave.  But,  as  I am  now 
conversing  with  you  unreservedly,  I was  in  want  of  a ivife  to 
bring  me  a little  money  with  which  to  pay  off  my  debts  ; and 
even  yet,  if  Demipho  is  willing  to  give  as  much  as  I am  to 
receive  with  her  to  whom  I am  engaged,  there  is  no  one  whom 
1 should  better  like  for  a wife.” 

Ant.  {apart)  Whether  to  say  he’s  doing  this  through  folly 
or  mischief,  through  stupidity  or  design,  I’m  in  doubt. 

Dem.  What  if  he’s  in  debt  to  the  amount  of  his  life?^ 

Geta.  His  land  is  mortgaged, — for  ten  minse  he  said. 

Dem.  Well,  well,  let  him  take  her  then ; I’ll  give  it. 

Geta.  Pie  has  a house  besides,  mortgaged  for  another  ten. 

Dem.  Huy,  huy ! that’s  too  much. 

Chrem.  Don’t  be  crying  out;  you  may  have  those  ten  of 
me. 

Geta.  A lady’s  maid  must  be  brought  for  his  wife;  and 
then  too,  a little  more  is  wanted  for  some  furniture,  and  some 
is  wanted  for  the  wedding  expenses.  “ Well  then,”  said  he, 
“ for  these  items,  put  down  ten  more.” 

Dem.  Then  let  him  at  once  bring  six  hundred  actions' 
against  me  ; I shall  give  nothing  at  all ; is  this  dirty  fellow  to 
be  laughing  at  me  as  well  ? 

^ Amount  of  his  life) — Yer.  660.  “ Quid  si  animam  debet  ?”  Erasmus 
tells  us  that  this  was  a proverb  among  the  Greeks  applied  to  those  who 
ran  so  deeply  in  debt,  that  their  persons,  and  consequently,  in  one  sense, 
their  very  existence,  came  into  the  power  of  their  creditors. 

^ Six  hundred  actions) — Yer.  667.  “ Sescentos ;”  literally,  “six  hun- 
dred.’’ The  Romans  used  this  term  as  we  do  the  words  “ten  thou- 
sand,” to  signify  a large,  but  indefinite  number. 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  SCHEMING  TARASITE. 


233 


CiiREM.  Tray  do  be  quiet ; I’ll  give  it:  do  yon  only  bring 
your  son  to  marry  the  woman  we  want  him  to  have. 

Ant.  (apart)  Ah  me ! Geta,  you  have  ruined  me  by  your 
treachery. 

CiiREM.  ’Tis  on  my  account  she’s  turned  off ; it’s  right  that 
I should  bear  the  loss. 

Geta.  ‘‘  Take  care  and  let  me  know,”  said  he,  as  soon  as 
})ossible,  if  they  are  going  to  let  me  have  her,  that  I may  get 
rid  of  the  other,  so  that  I mayn’t  be  in  doubt ; for  the  others 
liave  agreed  to  pay  me  down  the  portion  directl3^” 

CriREM.  Let  him  have  her  at  once ; let  him  give  notice  to 
tliem  that  he  breaks  off  the  match  luith  the  other and  let  him 
marry  this  woman. 

Dem.  Yes,  and  little  joy  to  liim  of  the  bargain  ! 

Chrem.  Luckily,  too,  I’ve  now  brought  home  some  money 
with  me,  the  rents  which  my  wife’s  farms  at  Lemnos  produce. 
I’ll  take  it  out  of  that,  and  tell  my  wife  that  you  had  occasion 
for  it.  (They  go  into  the  house  of  Chremes.) 


Scene  IV. 


Antipho  and  Geta. 

Ant.  (cominq  forward.)  Geta. 

Geta.  Well. 

Ant.  What  have  you  been  doing? 

Geta.  Diddling  the  old  fellows  out  of  their  money. 

Ant.  Is  that  quite  the  thing? 

Geta.  T faith,  I don’t  know:  it’s  just  what  I was  told 
to  dw. 

Ant.  How  now,  whip-scoundrel,  do  you  give  me  an  an- 
swer to  what  I don’t  ask  you  ? (Kicks  him.) 

Geta.  What  was  it  then  that  you  did  ask? 

Ant.  What  was  it  I did  ask  ? Through  your  agency,  mat- 
ters have  most  undoubtedly  come  to  the  pass  that  I may  go 
hang  myself.  May  then  all  the  Gods,  Goddesses,  Deities 
above  and  below,  with  every  evil  confound  you ! Look  now, 
if  you  wish  any  thing  to  succeed,  intrust  it  to  him  who  may 
bring  you  from  smooth  water  on  to  a rock.  What  was  there 
less  advantageous  than  to  touch  upon  this  sore,  or  to  name 


340 


PIIORMIO;  OR, 


[Act  hi. 


my  Avife?  Hopes  Lave  been  excited  in  my  father  that  she 
may  possibly  be  got  rid  of.  Pray  now,  tell  me,  suppose 
Phormio  receives  the  portion,  she  must  be  taken  home  hj  him 
as  his  wife : what’s  to  become  of  me  ? 

Geta.  But  he’s  not  going  to  marry  her. 

Ant.  I know  that.  But  {ironically)  Avhcn  they  demand 
tlie  money  back,  of  course,  for  our  sake,  he’ll  prefer  going  to 
prison. 

Geta.  There  is  nothing,  Antipho,  but  Avhat  it  may  be  made 
Avorse  by  being  badly  told : you  leave  out  what  is  good,  and 
you  mention  the  bad.  Now  then,  hear  the  other  side:  if  he 
receives  the  money,  she  must  be  taken  as  his  AAufe,  you  say ; 
I grant  you ; still,  some  time  at  least  Avill  be  allowed  for  pre- 
paring for  the  nuptials,  for  inviting,  and  for  sacrificing.  In 
the  mean  time,  Phcedrids  friends  will  advance  Avhat  they  have 
promised  ; out  of  that  he  Avill  repay  it. 

Ant.  On  what  grounds  % Or  what  Avill  he  say  ? 

Geta.  Do  you  ask  the  question  % Hoav  many  circum- 
stances, since  then,  have  befallen  me  as  prodigies  1 A strange 
black  dog^  entered  the  house;  a snake  came  down  from  the 
tiles  through  the  sky-light;^  a hen  crowed;^  the  soothsayer 
forbade  it ; the  diviner^  warned  me  not : besides,  before  win- 
ter there  is  no  sufficient  reason  for  me  to  commence  upon  any 
new  undertaking.”  This  Avill  be  the  case. 

Ant.  I only  wish  it  may  be  the  case. 

Geta.  It  shall  be  the  case;  trust  me  for  that.  Your 
father’s  coming  out;  go  tell  Phredria  that  the  money  is 
found. 

^ A strange  black  dog) — Ver.  705.  This  omen,  Plautus  calls,  in  the 
Casina,  1.  937,  “canina  scseva.” 

2 Through  the  sky-light') — Ver.  706.  So  in  the  Amphitryon  of  Plautus, 
1.  1108,  two  great  snakes  come  down  through  the  ^‘impluvium,”  or 
“sky-light.”  On  the  subject  of  the  “ impliwium,”  see  the  Notes  to  the 
Miles  Gloriosus  of  Plautus,  1.  159. 

^ A hen  crowed) — Ver.  707.  Donatus  tells  us  that  it  Avas  a saying, 
that  in  the  house  where  a hen  crowed,  the  wife  had  the  upper  hand. 

^ The  soothsayer — the  diviner) — Ver.  708.  According  to  some  ac- 
counts there  was  this  difference  between  the  “ hariolus”  and  the  “ arus- 
pex,”  that  the  former  foretold  human  events,  the  latter  those  relating 
to  the  Deities.  Donatus  has  remarked  on  these  passages,  that  Terence 
seems  to  sneer  at  the  superstitions  referred  to. 


Sc.  V.] 


THE  SCHEMING  PAEASITE. 


341 


Scene  V. 

Enter  Demipiio  and  Ciiiiemes,  from  the  house  of  the  latter^ 
the  former  loith  a purse  of  money, 

Dem.  Do  be  quiet,  I tell  you ; I’ll  take  care  he  shall  not 
be  playing  any  tricks  'wpon  us.  I’ll  not  rashly  part  with  this 
without  having  my  witnesses ; I’ll  have  it  stated  to  whom  I 
pay  it,  and  for  what  purpose  I pay  it. 

Geta  {apart.)  How  cautious  he  is,  when  there’s  no  need 
for  it ! 

CiiREM.  Why  yes,  you  had  need  do  so,  and  with  all  haste, 
while  the  fit  is  upon  him  ; for  if  this  other  woman  shall  prove 
more  pressing,  perhaps  he  may  throw  us  over. 

Geta.  You’ve  hit  upon  the  very  thing. 

Dem.  Lead  me  to  him  then. 

Geta.  I won’t  delay. 

CiiREM.  {to  Demipiio.)  When  you’ve  done  so,  go  over  to 
my  wife,  that  she  may  call  upon  her  before  she  goes  away. 
She  must  tell  her  that  we  are  going  to  give  her  in  marriage 
to  Fhormio,  that  she  may  not  be  angry  with  us;  and  that 
he  is  a fitter  match  for  her,  as  knowing  more  of  her;  that 
we  have  in  no  way  departed  from  our  duty;  that  as  much 
has  been  given  for  a portion  as  he  asked  for. 

Dem.  What  the  plague  does  that  matter  to  you? 

Ciikem.  a great  deal,  Demipiio.  It  is  not  enough  for  you 
to  do  your  duty,  if  common  report  does  not  approve  of  it ; I 
wish  all  this  to  be  done  with  her  own  sanction  as  welly  that 
she  mayn’t  be  saying  that  she  has  been  turned  out  of  doors. 

Dem.  I can  do  all  that  myself. 

Chrem.  It  will  come  better  from  one  woman  to  another. 

Dem.  I’ll  ask  her.  {Goes  into  the  house  of  Chremes;  and 
exit  Geta.) 

Chrem.  {to  himself.)  I’m  thinking  where  I can  find  them 
now.^ 

^ Can  find  them  now) — Ver.  726.  His  Lemnian  wife  and  daughter. 
Colman  remarks : “ This  is  intended  as  a transition  to  the  next  Scene ; 
but  I think  it  would  have  been  better  if  it  had  followed  without  this 
kind  of  introduction.  The  Scene  itself  is  admirable,  and  is,  in  many 
places,  both  affecting  and  comic,  and  the  discovery  of  the  real  character 
of  Phanium  is  made  at  a very  proper  time.” 


342 


PHORMIO;  OR, 


[Act  III, 


Scene  YI. 

Enter  Sopiirona  from  the  house  of  Demipho,  at  a distance. 

Soph,  {to  herself)  What  am  I to  do  ? What  friend,  in  iny 
distress,  shall  I find,  to  whom  to  disclose  these  plans ; and 
where  shall  I look  for  relief?  For  I’m  afraid  that  my  mis- 
tress, in  consequence  of  my  advice,  may  undeservingly  sustain 
some  injury,  so  extremely  ill  do  I hear  that  the  young  man’s 
father  takes  what  has  happened. 

Chrem.  {apart^  to  himself)  But  what  old  w^oman’s  this, 
that  has  come  out  of  my  brother’s  house,  half  dead  with 
fright  ? 

SoPiT.  {to  herself  continuing.)  It  was  distress  that  com- 
pelled me  to  this  step,  though  I knew  that  the  match  was 
not  likely  to  hold  good  ; my  object  was,  that  in  the  mean  time 
life  might  be  supported. 

Chrem.  {apar%  to  himself)  Upon  my  faith,  surely,  unless  my 
recollection  deceives  me,  or  my  sight’s  not  very  good,  I espy 
my  daughter’s  nurse. ^ 

Soph,  {to  herself)  And  we  are  not  able  to  find 

Chrem.  {apart.)  What  must  I do? 

Soph,  {to  herself)  Her  father. 

Chrem.  {to  himself^  apart.)  Shall  I accost  her,  or  shall  I 
wait  to  learn  more  distinctly  what  it  is  she’s  saying  ? 

Soph,  {to  herself)  If  now  I could  find  him,  there’s  nothing 
that  I should  be  in  fear  of. 

Chrem.  {apai%  to  himself  aloud.)  ’Tis  the  very  woman. 
I’ll  address  her. 

Soph,  {turning  round.)  Who’s  that  speaking  here  ? 

Chrem.  {coming  forward,)  Sophrona. 

Soph.  Mentioning  my  name,  too  ? 

Chrem.  Look  round  at  me. 

Soph,  {seeing  him.)  Ye  Gods,  I do  beseech  you,  isn’t  this 
Stilpho  ? 

Chrem.  No. 

^ My  daughter's  nurse) — Ver.  735.  Among  the  ancients,  it  was  the 
custom  for  nurses  who  had  brought  up  children  to  remain  with  them 
in  after-life. 


Sc.  VL] 


THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


343 


Soph.  Do  you  deny  it  ? 

Chrem.  (in  a low  voice,)  Step  a little  this  way  from  that 
door,  Sophrona,  if  you  please  (pointing).  Don’t  you,  hence- 
forth, be  calling  me  by  that  name. 

Soph.  Why  % Pray,  are  you  not  the  person  you  always 
used  to  say  you  were  ? 

Chrem.  Hush  ! (pointing  to  his  own  house.) 

Soph.  Why  are  you  afraid  about  that  door? 

Chrem.  (in  a low  voice.)  I have  got  a shrew  of  a wife  shut 
up  there.  For  by  that  name  I formerly  falsely  called  myself, 
in  order  that  you  might  not  chance  indiscreetly  to  blab  it  out 
of  doors,  and  then  my  wife,  by  some  means  or  other,  might 
come  to  know  of  it. 

Soph.  V faith,  that’s  the  very  reason  why  we,  wretched 
creatures,  have  never  been  able  to  find  you  out  here. 

Chrem.  Well,  but  tell  me,  what  business  have  you  with 
that  family  from  wliose  house  you  were  coming  out  ? Where 
are  the  ladies?' 

Soph.  Ah,  wretched  me!  ® 

Chrem.  Hah  ! What’s  the  matter  ? Are  they  still  alive  ? 

Soph.  Your  daughter  is  alive.  Pier  poor  mother  died  of 
gi-ief. 

Chrem.  An  unfortunate  thing! 

Soph.  As  for  me,  being  a lone  old  woman,  in  want,  and 
unknown,  I contrived,  as  well  as  I could,  to  get  the  young 
woman  married  to  the  young  man  who  is  master  of  this  house 
(pointing). 

Chrem.  What ! to  Antipho  ? 

Soph.  The  very  same,  I say. 

Chrem.  What?  Has  he  got  two  wives? 

Soph.  Dear  no,  prithee,  he  has  only  got  this  one. 

Chrem.  What  about  the  other  one  that’s  called  his  rela- 
tive? 

Soph.  Why,  this  is  she. 

Chrem.  What  is  it  you  say? 

Soph.  It  was  done  on  purpose,  in  order  that  her  lover  might 
be  enabled  to  marry  her  without  a portion. 

Chrem.  Ye  Gods,  by  our  trust  in  you!  How  often  do  those 
things  come  about  through  accident,  which  you  couldn’t  dare 

^ Where  are  the  ladies?) — Vcr.  748.  “ Ubi  illae?”  literally,  “Where 
are  these  women?” 


344 


PHORMIO ; OR, 


[Act  IV. 


to  hope  for?  On  my  return,  I have  found  my  daughter  match- 
ed with  the  very  person  I v/ished,  and  just  as  I wanted ; a thing 
that  we  were  both  using  our  endeavors,  with  the  greatest  earn- 
estness, to  bring  about.  Without  any  very  great  management 
on  our  part,  by  her  own  management,  she  has  by  herself 
brought  this  about. 

Soph.  Now  consider  what’s  to  be  done.  The  young  man’s 
father  has  returned,  and  they  say  that  he  bears  this  with  feel- 
ings highly  offended. 

Chrem.  There’s  no  danger  of  that.  But,  by  Gods  and  men, 
do  take  care  that  no  one  comes  to  know  that  she’s  ihy  daugh- 
ter. 

Soph.  No  one  shall  know  it  from  me. 

Chrem.  Follow  me ; in-doors  we’ll  hear  the  rest,  {lie  goes 
into  Demipho’s  house^  followed  hy  Sophrona.) 


ACT  THE  FOUETH. 


Scene  I. 

Enter  Deimipho  and  Geta. 

Dem.  ’Tis  caused  by  our  own  fault,  that  it  is  advantageous 
to  be  dishonest ; while  we  wish  ourselves  to  be  styled  very  hon- 
est and  generous.  So  run  away  as  not  to  run  beyond  the 
house,”^  as  the  saying  is.  Was  it  not  enough  to  receive  an 
injury  from  him,  but  money  must  be  voluntarily  offered  him 
Jis  well,  that  he  may  have  something  on  v/hich  to  subsist  while 
he  plans  some  oXh^v  piece  of  roguery? 

^ Run  beyond  the  house) — Yer.  767.  Eugias  ne  praeter  casani.”  This 
passage  has  given  much  trouble  to  the  Commentators ; but  it  is  pretty 
clear  that  the  explanation  of  Donatus  is  the  correct  one:  “Don’t  aban- 
don your  own  home,”  that  being  the  safest  place.  Stallbaum  agrees 
with  Gronovius  in  thinking  that  it  was  first  applied  as  a piece  of  advice 
to  runaway  slaves,  as  being  likely  to  become  worse  off  by  the  change ; 
probably  much  in  the  same  spirit  as  we  say,  “ Out  of  the  frying-pan  into 
the  fire.” 


Sc.  IL] 


THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


345 


Geta.  Most  clearly  so. 

Dem.  They  now  get  rewarded  for  it,  who  confound  right 
witli  wrong. 

Geta.  Most  undoubtedly. 

Dem.  How  very  foolishly,  in  fact,  wc  have  managed  the 
atfair  with  him  ! 

Geta.  If  by  these  means  we  can  only  manage  for  him  to 
marry  her. 

Dem.  Is  that,  then,  a matter  of  doubt  ? 

Geta.  I’  faith,  judging  from  what  the  fellow  is,  I don’t 
know  whether  he  mightn’t  change  his  mind. 

Dem.  How  ! change  it  indeed  ? 

Geta.  I don’t  know : but  “ if  perhaps,”  I say. 

Dem.  I’ll  do  as  my  brother  advised  me,  bring  hither  his 
wife,  to  talk  with  her.  Do  you,  Geta,  go  before ; tell  her 
that  Nausistrata  is  about  to  visit  her.  (Demipho  goes  info  the 
house  of  Citpemes.) 


Scene  H. 

Geta,  alone. 

Geta.  The  money’s  been  got  for  Phsedria ; it’s  all  hushed 
about  the  lawsuit ; due  care  has  been  taken  that  she’s  not 
to  leave  for  the  present.  AVhat  next,  then?  What’s  to  be 
done?  You  are  still  sticking  in  the  mud.  You  are  paying 
by  borrowing;^  the  evil  that  was  at  hand,  has  been  put  off 
for  a day.  The  toils  are  increasing  upon  you,  if  you  don’t 
look  out.  Now  I’ll  away  home,  and  tell  Phanium  not  to  be 
afraid  of  Nausistrata,  or  his  talking.^  {Goes  into  the  house  of 
Demipho.) 

^ Paying  hy  borrowing) — Yer.  779.  ‘Wersura  solvere,”  was  “to  pay 
a debt  by  borrowing  money,”  and  consequently  to  be  no  better  off  than 
before.  Geta  having,  by  the  money  he  has  procured,  freed  Phsedria 
from  all  danger  of  losing  his  mistress,  but  at  the  same  time  having 
brought  Antipho  into  still  greater  danger  of  losing  his  wife. 

2 Or  his  talking) — Yer.  782.  “Ejus”  here  alludes,  not  to  Nausistrata 
but  to  Phormio.  Madame  Dacier  suggests  that  it  should  be  ‘ ‘ hujus.” 

P2 


34G 


riiOKMlO;  Oil, 


[Act  IV. 


Scene  III. 

Enter  Demipiio  and  Nausistrata,  from  the  house  of 
ClIKEMES. 

Dem.  Come  now,  Nausistrata,  after  your  usual  way,  man- 
age to  keep  her  in  good-humor  with  us,  and  make  her  do  of 
her  own  accord  what  must  be  done. 

Naus.  I will. 

Dem.  You  are  now  seconding  me  with  your  endeavors,  just 
as  you  assisted  me  with  your  money^  before. 

Naus.  I wish  to  do  so ; and  yet,  i’  faith,  through  the  fault 
of  my  husband,  I am  less  able  than  I ought  to  be. 

Dem.  Why  so  ? 

Naus.  Because,  i’  faith,  he  takes  such  indifferent  care  of 
the  property  that  was  so  industriously  acquired  by  my  father ; 
for  from  those  farms  he  used  regularly  to  receive  two  talents 
of  yearly ; there’s  an  instance,  how  superior  one  man  is 

to  another. 

Dem.  Two  talents^  pray? 

Naus.  Aye,  and  when  things  were  much  worse,  two  talents 
even. 

Dem.  Whew ! 

Naus.  What!  does  this  seem  surprising? 

Dem.  Of  course  it  does. 

Naus.  I wish  I had  been  born  a man  ; I’d  have  shown 

Dem.  That  Tm  quite  sure  of. 

Naus.  In  what  way 

Dem.  Forbear,  pray,  that  you  may  be  able  to  do  lattle  with 
her ; lest  she,  being  a young  w'bman,  may  be  more  than  a 
match  for  you. 

Naus.  I’ll  do  as  you  bid  me ; but  I see  my  husband  com- 
ing out  of  your  house. 

^ With  your  money') — Yer.  785.  Colman  observes:  “Alluding  to  the 
money  borrowed  of  her  to  pay  Phormio ; and  as  Donatus  observes  in 
another  place,  it  is  admirably  contrived,  in  order  to  bring  about  a hu- 
morous catastrophe  that  Chremes  should  make  use  of  his  wife’s  money 
on  this  occasion.’ 


IV.J 


THE  SCHEMING  TAKASITE. 


347 


Scene  IY. 

Enter  Ciiremes,  hastily , from  Demipho’s  house. 

CriREM.  Ha ! Demipho,  has  the  money  been  paid  him 
yet  ? 

Dem.  I took  care  immediately. 

CiiREM.  I wish  it  hadn’t  been  paid  him.  {On  seeing  Nau- 
siSTRATA,  aside.)  Halloo,  I espy  my  wife ; I had  almost  said 
more  than  I ought. 

Dem.  AYhy  do  you  wish  I hadn’t,  Chremes? 

CiiREM.  It’s  ail  right. 

Dem.  What  say  you?  Have  you  been  letting  her  know 
why  we  are  going  to  bring  her?  {pointing  to  Nausistrata.) 

CriREM.  I’ve  arranged  it. 

De3I.  Pray,  what  does  she  say  ? 

Chrem.  She  can’t  be  got  to  leave. 

Dem.  Why  can’t  she? 

Chrem.  Because  they  are  fond  of  one  another. 

Dem.  What’s  that  to  us? 

Chrem.  {apart^  to  Demipho.)  A great  deal ; besides  that. 
I’ve  found  out  that  she  is  related  to  us. 

Dem.  {apart.)  What ! You  are  mad,  surely. 

Chrem.  {apart.)  So  you  will  find ; I don’t  speak  at  ran- 
dom ; I’ve  recovered  my  recollection. 

Dem.  {apart.)  Are  you  quite  in  your  senses? 

Chrem.  {apart.)  Nay,  prithee,  do  take  care  not  to  injure 
your  kinswoman. 

Dem.  {apart.)  She  is  not. 

Chrem.  {apart.)  Don’t  deny  it ; her  father  went  by  another 
name  ; that  was  the  cause  of  your  mistake. 

Dem.  {apart.)  Did  she  not  know  who  was  her  father? 

Chrem.  {apart.)  She  did.  ^ 

Dem.  {apart.)  Why  did  she  call  him  by  another  name? 

Chrem.  {apart^  f rowning.)  Will  you  never  yield  to  me,  nor 
understand  what  I mean  ? 

Dem.  {apart.)  If  you  don’t  tell  me  of  any  thing 

Chrem.  {impatiently.)  Do  you  persist? 

Naus.  I wonder  what  all  this  can  be. 

Dem.  For  my  part,  upon  my  faith,  I don’t  know. 


348 


PHOKMIO;  OK, 


[Act  IV. 


CiiREM.  {loliispering  to  him.)  AVould  you  like  to  know*? 
Then,  so  may  Jupiter  preserve  me,  not  a person  is  there  more 
nearly  related  to  her  than  are  you  and  I. 

Dem.  {starting.)  Ye  Gods,  by  our  trust  in  you!  let’s  away 
to  her ; I wish  for  all  of  us,  one  way  or  other,  to  be  sure  about 
this  (going). 

Chrem.  (stojiping  hwi.)  Ah! 

Dem.  What’s  the  matter  ? 

Chrem.  That  you  should  put  so  little  confidence  in  me ! 

Dem.  Do  you  wish  me  to  believe  you  ? Do  you  wish  me 
to  consider  this  as  quite  certain?  Very  well,  be  it  so.  Well, 
what’s  to  be  done  with  our  friend’s^  daughter? 

Chrem.  She’ll  do  well  enough. 

Dem.  Are  we  to  drop  her,  then  ? 

Chrem.  Why  not  ? 

Dem.  The  other  one  fo  stop? 

Chrem.  Just  so. 

Dem.  You  may  go  then,  Nausistrata. 

Naus.  r faith,  I think  it  better  for  all  that  she  should  re- 
main here  as  it  is,  than  as  you  fu^st  intended ; for  she  seemed 
to  me  a very  genteel  person  when  I saw  her.  (Goes  into  her 
house.) 

Scene  V. 

Demipho  and  Chremes. 

Dem.  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  ? 

Chrem.  (looking  at  the  door  of  his  house.)  Has  she  shut  the 
door  yet? 

Dem.  Now  she  has. 

Chrem.  O Jupiter ! the  Gods  do  befriend  us ; I have  found 
that  it  is  my  daughter  married  to  your  son. 

Dem.  Ha ! How  can  that  possibly  be  ? 

Chrem.  This  spot  is  not  exactly  suited  for  me  to  tell  it 

you. 

Dem.  Well  then,  step  in-doors. 

Chrem.  Hark  you,  I don’t  wish  our  sons  even  to  come  to 
know  of  this.  (They  go  into  Demipho’s  house.) 

^ Our  friend's) — Yer.  811.  Chremes  himself  is  so  called,  to  deceive 
Nausistrata. 


Sc.  VII.J 


THE  SCHEMING  TAKASITE. 


349 


Scene  VI. 

Enter  Antipiio. 

Ant.  I’m  glad  that,  however  my  own  affairs 'go,  my 
brother  has  succeeded  in  his  wishes.  How  wise  it  is  to 
cherish  desires  of  that  nature  in  the  mind,  that  when  tilings 
run  counter,  you  may  easily  find  a cure  for  them  I He  has 
both  got  the  money,  and  released  himself  from  care ; I,  by  no 
method,  can  extricate  myself  from  these  troubles;  on  the 
contrary,  if  the  matter  is  concealed,  I am  in  dread — but  if 
disclosed,  in  disgrace.  Neither  should  I now  go  home,  were 
not  a hope  still  presented  me  of  retaining  her.  But  where, 
I wonder,  can  I find  Geta,  that  I may  ask  him  what  oppor- 
tunity he  would  recommend  me  to  take  for  meeting  my 
father  ? 


Scene  VII. 

Enter  PiiORmo,  at  a distance. 

PiiOR.  {to  himself)  I received  the  money;  handed  it  over 
to  the  Procurer;  brought  away  the  woman,  that  Phaedria 
might  have  her  as  his  own — for  she  has  now  become  free. 
Now  tlicre  is  one  thing  still  remaining  for  me  to  manage, — 
to  get  a respite  from  the  old  gentlemen  for  carousing;  for  I’ll 
enjoy  myself  the  next  few  days. 

Ant.  But  /zero’s  Phormio.  {Going  np  to  him,)  What  have 
you  to  say  ? 

PiiOR.  About  what? 

Ant.  Why — what’s  Phaedria  going  to  do  now?  In  what 
way  does  he  say  that  he  intends  to  take  his  fill  of  love? 

PiiOR.  In  his  turn,  he’s  going  to  act  your  part. 

Ant.  Vi'hcit  part  ? 

PiiOR.  To  run  away  from  his  father ; he  begs  that  you  in 
your  return  will  act  on  his  behalf— to  plead  his  cause  for  liim. 
For  he’s  going  to  carouse  at  my  house.  I shall  tell  the  old 
man  that  I’m  going  to  Sunium,  to  the  fair,  to  purchase  the 
female  servant  that  Geta  mentioned  a while  since,  so  that, 


PHORMIO;  OR, 


[Act  IV. 


when  they  don’t  see  me  here,  they  mayn’t  suppose  that  I’m 
squandering  their  money.  But  there  is  a noise  at  the  door 
of  your  house. 

Ant.  See  who’s  coming  out. 

Fiior.  It’s  Geta. 


Scene  VIII. 

Enter  Geta,  at  a distance^  hastily^  f rom  the  house  of 
Demipho. 

Geta  {to  himself)  O fortune!  O good  luck!^  with  blessings 
how  great,  how  suddenly  hast  thou  loaded  this  day  with  thy 
favors  to  my  master  Antipho! 

Ant.  {apart  to  Phormio.)  I wonder  what  it  is  he  means. 

Geta  {continuing,)  And  relieved  us,  his  friends,  from  alarm ; 
but  I’m  now  delaying,  in  not  throwing  my  cloak^  over  my 
shoulder  {throics  it  over  his  shoulder)^  and  making  haste  to  find 
him,  that  he  may  know  what  has  happened. 

Ant.  {apart  to  Phormio.)  Do  you  understand  what  he’s 
talking  about  ? 

PiiOR.  {apart  to  Antipho.)  Do  you  ? 

Ant.  {apart  to  Phormio.)  Not  at  all. 

Phor.  ^0  Antipho.)  And  I just  as  much. 

Geta  {to  himself.)  I’ll  be  off  hence  to  the  Procurer’s;  they 
are  there  just  now.  {Runs  along.) 

Ant.  {calling  out.)  Halloo!  Geta! 

Geta  {still  running.)  There’s  for  you.  Is  it  any  thing  new 
or  wonderful  to  be  called  back,  directly  you’ve  started  ? 

Ant.  Geta! 

Geta.  Do  you  persist?  Troth,  you  shall  not  on  this  oc- 
casion get  the  better  of  me  by  your  annoyance. 

Ant.  {running  after  him.)  Won’t  you  stop? 

Geta.  You’ll  be  getting  a beating. 

Ant.  Assuredly  that  will  befall  yourself  just  now  unless 
you  stop,  you  whip-knave. 

^ 0 good  lucJc) — Vcr.  840.  “Fors  fortuna,”  “good  fortune;”  while 
“ fortuna”  merely  means  “chance.” 

^ Throwing  my  cloak) — Yer.  843.  When  expedition  was  required,  it 
was  usual  to  throw  the  ends  of  the  “ pallium,”  or  “ cloak,”  over  the 
shoulders. 


8c.  YIII.] 


THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


351 


Geta.  This  must  be  some  one  pretty  familiar,  threatening 
mo  with  a beating.  {Tunis  round.)  But  is  it  the  person  Pm  in 
search  of  or  nof?  ’Tis  the  very  man ! Up  to  him  at  once. 

Ant.  What’s  the  matter"? 

Geta.  O being  most  blessed  of  all  men  living ! For  with- 
out question,  Antipho,  you  are  the  only  favorite  of  the  Gods. 

Ant.  So  I could  wish;  but  I should  like  to  be  told  why 
Tin  to  believe  it  is  so. 

Geta.  Is  it  enough  if  I plunge  you  into  a sea  of  joy  ? 

Ant.  You  are  worrying  me  to  death. 

IhiOK.  Nay  but  do  have  done  with  your  promises,  and  tell 
us  what  YOU  bring. 

Geta  {looking  round.)  Oh,  are  you  here  too,  Phormio"? 

Fiioii.  I am ; but  ivhy  do  you  delay? 

Geta.  Listen,  then.  When  we  just  now  paid  you  the 
money  at  the  PYrum,  we  went  straight  to  Chremes ; in  the 
mean  time,  my  master  sent  me  to  your  wife. 

Ant.  What  for  ? 

Geta.  I’ll  omit  telling  you  that.,  as  it  is  nothing  to  the 
present  purpose,  Antipho.  Just  as  I was  going  to  the  wo- 
man’s apartments,  the  boy  Mida  came  running  up  to  me,  and 
caught  me  behind  by  my  cloak,  and  pulled  me  back  ; I turned 
iibout,  and  inquired  for  what  reason  he  stopped  me ; he  said 
that  it  was  forbidden  for  any  one  to  go  in  to  his  mistress. 

Sophrona  has  just  now,”  said  he,  ‘introduced  here  Chremes, 
the  old  gentleman’s  brother,”  and  he  said  that  he  was  then  in 
the  room  with  them : when  I heard  this,  on  tip-toe  I stole 
softly  along ; 1 came  there,  stood,  held  my  breath,  I applied 
my  ear,  and  so  began  to  listen,  catching  the  conversation 
every  word  in  this  fashion  {shows  them). 

Ant.  Well  done,  Geta. 

Geta.  Here  I overheard  a very  pretty  piece  of  business;  so 
much  so  that  I had  nearly  cried  out  for  joy. 

Ant.  What  was  it? 

Geta  {laughing.)  What  do  you  think? 

Ant.  I don’t  know. 

Geta.  Why,  something  most  marvelous.  Your  uncle  has 
been  discovered  to  be  the  father  of  your  wife,  Phanium. 

Ant.  {starting.)  Ha!  what’s  that  you  say  ? 

Geta.  He  formerly  cohabited  secretly  with  her  mother  at 
Lemnos. 


352  PHORMIO;  OR,  [Act  IV.,  Sc.  IX. 

« 

PiiOR.  A dream  : how  could  she  be  ignorant  about  her 
own  father? 

Geta.  Be  sure,  Phormio,  that  there  is  some  reason  : but  do 
you  suppose  that,  outside  of  the  door,  I was  able  to  under- 
stand every  thing  that  passed  between  them  within  ? 

Ant.  On  my  faith,  I too  have  heard  the  same  story. 

Geta.  Aye,  and  Pll  give  you  still  further  reason  for  believ- 
ing it : your  uncle  in  the  mean  time  came  out  from  there ; not 
long  after  he  returned  again,  with  your  father  ; each  said  that 
he  gave  you  permission  to  retain  her;  in  fine,  Pve  been  sent 
to  find  you,  and  bring  you  to  them. 

Ant.  Why  then  carry  me  off^  at  once; — why  do  you  dc- 
lay  ? 

Geta.  I’ll  do  so. 

Ant.  O my  dear  Phormio,  farewell ! 

Phok.  Farewell,  Antipho.  (Antipho  and  Geta  go  into 
Demipiio’s  house.) 


Scene  IX. 

Phormio,  alone. 

PiiOR.  So  may  the  Gods  bless  me,  this  has  turned  out 
luckily.  I’m  glad  of  it,  that  such  good  fortune  has  thus 
suddenly  befallen  them.  I have  now  an  excellent  oppor- 
tunity for  diddling  the  old  men,  and  ridding  Phaedria  of 
all  anxiety  about  the  money,  so  that  he  mayn’t  be  under  the 
necessity  of  applying  to  any  of  his  companions.  For  this 
same  money,  as  it  has  been  given  him,  shall  be  given  for  good,  * 
wiiether  they  like  it  or  not:  how  to  force  them  to  this.  I’ve 
I'oLind  out  the  very  way.  I must  now  assume  a new  air  and 
countenance.  But  I’ll  betake  myself  off  to  this  next  alley ; 
from  that  spot  I’ll  present  myself  to  them,  when  they  come 

^ Carry  me  off) — Ver.  881.  Madame  Dacier  says  that  Antipho  is  so 
rejoiced  here  at  Geta’s  news,  that  he  jumps  upon  his  shoulders,  and  is 
carried  off’  in  triumph,  which  was  a sort  of  stage-trick,  and  was  very 
diverting  to  the  Audience.  On  this,  Colman  observes:  “I  believe 
Madame  Dacier  has  not  the  least  foundation  for  this  extraordinary 
piece  of  information ; and  I must  confess,  that  I have  too  high  an 
opinion,  both  of  the  Roman  audience  and  actors,  to  believe  it  to  be 
true.” 


ActV.,  Sc.  I.]  THE  SCHEMING  TARASITE. 


353 


out  of  doors.  I sha’n’t  go  to  the  fair,  where  T pretended  I was 
going.  {lie  retires  into  the  alley,) 


ACT  TPIE  FIFTH. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Demipho  and  Chremes,  from  Demipiio’s  house, 

Dem.  I do  give  and  return  hearty  thanks  to  the  Gods,  and 
with  reason,  brother,  inasmuch  as  these  matters  have  turned 
out  for  us  so  fortunately.  We  must  now  meet  with  Phormio 
as  soon  as  possible,  before  he  squanders  our  thirty  minse,  so 
that  we  may  get  them  from  him. 

Enter  Pjiormio,  coming  forward^  and  speaking  aloud,,  as  though 
not  seeing  them. 

PiiOR.  I’ll  go  see  if  Demipho’s  at  home  ; that  as  to 
Vv'hat^ 

I)e:u.  {accosting  him.)  Why,  Phormio,  we  were  coming  to 
you. 

PiTOP.  Perhaps  about  the  very  same  affair.  (Demipho  nods 
assent.)  T faith,  I thought  so.  What  were  you  coming  to 
my  house  for?  Eidiculous;  are  you  afraid  that  I sha’ri’t  do 
what  I have  once  undertaken?  Hark  you,  whatever  is  my 
poverty,  still,  of  this  one  thing  I have  taken  due  care,  not  to 
forfeit  my  word. 

Chrem.  {to  Demipho.)  Is  she  not  genteel-looking,- just  as 
I told  you  ? 

^ That  as  to  what) — ^Ver.  898.  Lemaire  suggests  that  he  is  about  to 
say:  ‘‘that  as  to  what  was  agreed  upon  between  us,  1 may  take  home 
tills  young  woman,  and  make  her  my  wife.” 

“ Is  she  not  genteel-looking) — Ver.  904.  Patrick  has  the  following  note 
liere  : “ One  can  not  conceive  any  thing  more  happy  or  just  than  these 
words  of  Chremes.  Pemipho’s 'thoughts  are  wholly  taken  up  how  to 
recover  the  money,  and  Phormio  is  equally  solicitous  to  retain  it ; but 
Chremes,  who  had  just  left  his  daughter,  is  regardless  of  their  discourse, 
and  fresh  from  the  impressions  which  she  had  made  on  him,  longs  to 
know  if  his  brother’s  sentiments  of  her  were  equally  favorable,  and 
ndturally  puts  this  paternal  question  to  him.” 


354 


PHOKMIO;  OK, 


[Act  V. 


Dem.  Very  much  so. 

PiiOR.  And  this  is  what  I’m  come  to  tell  you,  Demipho, 
that  I’m  quite  ready  ; whenever  you  please,  give  me  my  wife. 
For  I postponed  all  my  other  business,  as  was  fit  I should,  when 
I understood  that  you  were  so  very  desirous  to  have  it  so. 

Dem.  {pointing  to  Ciikemes.)  But  he  has  dissuaded  me 
from  giving  her  to  you.  “ For  what,”  says  he,  “ will  be  the 
talk  among  people  if  you  do  this?  Formerly,  when  she 
might  have  been  handsomely  disposed  of\  then  she  wasn’t 
given ; now  it’s  a disgrace  for  her  to  be  turned  out  of  doors, 
a repudiated  woman  pretty  nearly,  in  fact,  all  the  reasons 
which  you  yourself,  some  little  time  since,  were  urging  to  me. 

Fiior.  Upon  my  faitli,  you  are  treating  me  in  a very  in- 
sulting manner. 

Dem.  How  so  ? 

. Fiior.  Do  you  ask  me?  Because  I shall  not  be  able  to 
marry  the  other  person  I mentioned;  for  with  what  face  shall 
I return  to  her  whom  I’ve  slighted? 

CiiREM.  Then  besides,  I see  that  Antipho  is  unwilling  to 
part  with  her.  (Aside,  prompting  Demipho.)  Say  so. 

Dem.  Then  besides,  I see  that  my  son  is  very  unwilling  to 
part  with  the  damsel.  But  have  the  goodness  to  step  over  to 
the  Forum,  and  order  this  money  to  be  transferred  to  my  ac- 
count,^ Phormio. 

PiiOR.  What,  when  I’ve  paid  it  over  to  the  persons  to 
whom  I was  indebted  ? 

Dem.  What’s  to  be  done,  then  ? 

PiiOR.  If  you  will  let  me  have  her  for  a wife,  as  you  prom- 
ised, I’ll  take  her ; but  if  you  prefer  that  she  should  stay  with 
you,  the  portion  must  stay  with  me,  Demipho.  For  it  isn’t 
fair  that  I should  be  misled  for  you,  as  it  was  for  your  own 
sakes  that  I broke  off  with  the  other  woman,  who  was  to  have 
brought  me  a portion  just  as  large. 

Dem.  Away  with  you  to  utter  perdition,  with  this  swag- 
gering, you  vagabond.  What,  then,  do  you  fancy  we  don’t 
know  you,  or  your  doings? 

^ Transferred  to  my  account'} — Ver.  921.  ‘‘Kescriberc  argentum,”  or 
“nummos,”  meant  “to  transfer,”  or  “set  down  money  to  the  account 
of  another  person  in  one’s  banker’s  books.”  A passage  in  the  Asinaria 
of  Plautus,  1.  445,  seems  to  have  the  same  meaning. 


JV.  L]  TllK  SCHEMING  PARASITE.  355 

Phok.  You  are  provoking  me. 

Dem.  Would  you  have  married  her,  if  she  had  been  given 
to  you  ? 

PnOR.  Try  the  experiment. 

Dem.  That  my  son  might  cohabit  with  her  at  your  house, 
that  was  your  design. 

Phor.  Pray,  Avhat  is  that  you  say  ? 

Dem.  Then  do  you  give  me  my  money  ? 

Phor.  Nay,  but  do  you  give  me  my  wife  ? 

Dem.  Come  before  a magistrate.  {Going  to  seize  hold  of 
him.) 

Phor.  Why,  really,  if  you  persist  in  being  troublesome — 

Dem.  What  will  you  do  ? 

Phor.  What,  I ? You  fancy,  perhaps,  just  now,  that  I am 
the  protector  of  the  portionless;  for  the  w^ell  portioned,^  Tm 
in  the  habit  of  being  so  as  well. 

Chrem.  What’s  that  to  us? 

PiiOR.  (with  a careless  air.)  Nothing  at  all.  I know  a cer- 
tain lady  here  {pointing  at  Chremes’s  house)  whose  husband 
had 

Chrem.  {starting.)  Ha! 

Dem.  What’s  the  matter  ? 

Phor.  Another  wife  at  Lemnos 

Chrem.  {aside.)  Prn  ruined ! 

Phor.  By  whom  he  had  a daughter  ; and  her  he  is  secretly 
bringing  up. 

Chrem.  {aside.)  I’m  dead  and  buried! 

Phor.  This  I shall  assuredly  now  inform  her  of  ( Walks 
toward  the  house.) 

Chrem.  {running  and  catching  hold  of  him.)  I beg  of  you, 
don’t  do  so. 

Phor.  {with  a careless  air.)  Oh,  were  you  the  person  ? 

DexM.  What  a jest  he’s  making  of  us. 

Chrem.  {to  Phormio.)  We’ll  let  you  olf. 

Phor.  Nonsense. 

Chrem.  What  would  you  have  ? We’ll  forgive  you  the 
money  you’ve  got. 

Phor.  I hear  you.  Why  the  plague,  then,  do  you  two 
trifle  with  me  in  this  way,  you  silly  men,  with  your  childish 

^ For  the  well  portioned) — Ver.  039.  Though  Colman  thinks  other- 
wise, it  is  pretty  clear  that  he  alludes  to  Naiisistrata  in  these  words. 


356 


PHORMIO;  OR, 


[Act  V. 


speeches — won’t,  aiid  I will;  I will,  and  I won’t,”  over 
again  ; keep  it,  give  it  me  back  ; what  has  been  said,  is  un- 
said ; what  had  been  just  a bargain,  is  noiv  no  bargain.” 

CrniEM.  {aside^  to  Demipiio.)  In  what  manner,  or  from 
whom  has  he  come  to  know  of  this  ? 

Dem.  (aside,)  I don’t  know;  but  that  I’ve  told  it  to  no 
one,  I know  for  certain. 

Chrem.  (aside.)  So  maj  the  Gods  bless  me,  ’tis  as  good  as 
a miracle. 

Phor.  (aside,  to  himself.)  I’ve  graveled  them. 

Dem.  (apart,  to  Chremes.)  Well  now,  is  he  to  be  carrying 
off^  from  us  such  a sum  of  money  as  this,  and  so  palpably  to 
impose  upon  us?  By  heavens,  I’d  sooner  diei  Manage  to 
show  yourself  of  resolute  and  ready  wit.  You  see  that  this 
slip  of  yours  has  got  abroad,  and  that  you  can  not  now  possi- 
bly conceal  it  from  your  wife;  it  is  then  more  conducive  to 
our  quiet,  Chremes,  ourselves  to  disclose  what  she  will  be 
hearing  from  others ; and  then,  in  our  own  fashion,  we  shall 
be  able  to  take  vengeance  upon  this  dirty  fellow. 

Phor.  (aside,  to  himself.)  Good  lack-a-day,  now's  the  stick- 
ing-point,  if  I don’t  look  out  for  myself.  They  are  making 
toward  me  with  a gladiatorial  air. 

Chrem.  (apart,  to  Demipiio.)  But  I doubt  whether  it’s  pos- 
sible for  her  to  be  appeased. 

Dem.  (apart,  to  Chremes.)  Be  of  good  courage ; I’ll  effect 
a reconciliation  between  you;  remembering  this,  Chremes, 
that  she  is  dead  and  gone^  by  whom  you  had  this  girl. 

Phor.  (in  a loud  voice.)  Is  this  the  way  you  are  going  to 
deal  with  me?  Very  cleverly  done.  Come  on  with  you. 
By  heavens,  Demipho,  you  have  provoked  me,  not  to  his 
advantage  (pointing  at  Chremes).  How  say  you  ? (addressing 
Chremes).  When  you’ve  been  doing  abroad  just  as  you 
pleased,  and  have  had  no  regard  for  tliis  excellent  lady  here, 

'■  To  he  carrying  off) — Ver.  954.  Patrick  has  the  following  note  here  : 
‘‘The  different  characters  of  the  two  brothers  are  admirably  preserved 
throughout  this  Scene.  Chremes  stands  greatly  in  awe  of  his  wife,  and 
will  submit  to  any  thing  rather  than  the  story  should  come  to  her  ears; 
but  l>emipho  can  not  brook  the  thoughts  of  losing  so  much  money,  and 
encourages  his  brother  to  behave  with  spirit  and  resolution,  promising 
to  make  up  matters  between  him  and  his  wife.” 

^ Dead  and  gone) — Ver.  965.  “E  medio  excedere,”  was  an  Euphe- 
mism signifying  “to  die,”  which  it  was  deemed  of  ill  omen  to  mention. 


8c.  LI 


THE  SCHEMING  PAEASITE. 


357 


but  oil  the  contrary,  liavc  been  injuring  her  in  an  unheard- 
of  manner,  would  you  be  coming  to  me  with  prayers  to  wash 
away  your  offenses?  On  telling  her  of  this,  ITl  make  her  so 
incensed  wdth  you,  that  you  sha’n’t  quench  her,  though  you 
should  melt  away  into  tears. 

Dem.  {aside.)  A plague  may  cdl  the  Gods  and  Goddesses 
send  upon  him.  That  any  fellow  should  be  possessed  of  so 
much  impudence ! Does  not  this  villain  deserve  to  be  trans- 
ported hence  to  some  desolate  land  at  the  public  charge  ? 

CiiKEM.  {aside.)  I am  brought  to  such  a pass,  that  I really 
don’t  know  what  to  do  in  it. 

Dem.  I know  ; let’s  go  into  court. 

PiiOK.  Into  court  ? Here  in  preference  {pointing  to  Chre- 
MEs’s  liouse)^  if  it  suits  you  in  any  way.  {Moves  toward  the 
house.) 

Dem.  {to  Chremes.)  Follow  him,  and  hold  him  back,  till  I 
call  out  the  servants. 

CiiREM.  {ti-ying  to  seize  Piiormio.)  But  I can’t  by  myself; 
run  and  help  me, 

PiiOR.  {to  Demipiio,  who  seizes  hold  of  him.)  There’s  one 
action  of  damages  against  you. 

Chrem.  Sue  him  at  law,  then. 

PiiOR.  And  another  with  you,  Chremes. 

Dem.  Lay  hold  of  him.  {They  both  drag  him,) 

Phor.  Is  it  thus  you  do?  Why  then  I must  exert  my 
voice : Nausistrata,  come  out  {calling  aloud). 

Chrem.  {to  Demipho.)  Stop  his  mouth. 

Dem.  See  how  strong  the  rascal  is. 

Phor.  {calling  aloud.)  Nausistrata,  I say. 

Chrem.  Will  you  not  hold  your  tongue? 

Phor.  Hold  my  tongue  ? 

Dem.  {to  Chremes,  as  they  drag  him  along,)  If  he  won’t 
follow,  plant  your  fists  in  his  stomach. 

Phor.  Or  e’en  gouge  out  an  eye.  The  time’s  coming  when 
I shall  have  a full  revenge  on  you. 


358 


THORMIO  ; OE, 


[Act  V. 


Scene  II. 

Enter  Naijsistrata,  in  haste,  from  the  house. 

Naus.  Who  calls  my  name  ? 

Chrem.  {in  alarm.)  Ha ! 

Naus.  My  husband,  pray  what  means  this  disturbance  % 

PiiOR.  {to  Chremes.)  Oh,  oh,  why  are  you  mute  now? 

Naus.  Who  is  this  man  ? Won’t  you  answer  me? 

PiiOR.  What,  he  to  answer  you?  who,  upon  my  faith, 
doesn’t  know  where  he  is. 

Chrem.  {to  Nausistrata.)  Take  care  how  you  believe  that 
fellow  in  any  thing. 

PriOR.  {to  Nausistrata.)  Go,  touch  him ; if  he  isn’t  in  a 
cold  sweat  all  over,  why  then  kill  me. 

Chrem.  ’Tis  nothing  at  all. 

Naus.  What  is  it,  then,  that  this  person  is  talking  about  ? 

PiiOR.  You  shall  know  directly;  listen  now. 

Chrem.  Are  you  resolved  to  believe  him  ? 

Naus.  Pray,  how  can  I believe  him,  when  he  has  told  me 
nothing  ? 

Phor.  The  poor  creature  is  distracted  from  fright. 

Naus.  It  isn’t  for  nothing,  i’  faith,  that  you  are  in  such  a 
fright. 

Chrem.  What,  I in  a fright  ? 

Phor.  {to  Chremes.)  All  right,  of  course:  since  you  are 
not  in  a fright  at  all,  and  this  is  nothing  at  all  that  I’m  going 
to  tell,  do  you  relate  it. 

Dem.  Villain,  is  he  to  relate  it  at  your  request  ? 

Phor.  {to  Demipho.)  Come  now,  you’ve  managed  nicely 
for  your  brother. 

Naus.  My  husband,  will  you  not  tell  me? 

Chrem.  But 

Naus.  But  what  ? 

Chrem.  There’s  no  need  to  tell  you. 

Phor.  Not  for  you,  indeed ; but  there’s  need  for  her  to 
know  it.  At  Lemnos 

Chrem.  {starting.)  Ha!  what  are  you  doing? 


Sc.  ILJ 


THE  SCHEMING  TAKASITE. 


350 


Dem.  {to  PiiORMio.)  Won’t  you  hold  your  tongue? 

PiiOR.  {to  Nausistrata.)  Unknown  to  you 

C II REM.  Ah  me  ! 

Phor.  He  married  another 

Naus.  My  dear  sir,  may  the  Gods  forbid  it ! 

Phor.  Such  is  the  fact. 

Naus.  Wretch  that  I am,  Pm  undone! 

Phor.  And  had  a daughter  by  her,  too,  while  you  never 
dreamed  of  it. 

Chrem.  AYhat  are  we  to  do? 

Naus.  O immortal  Gods! — a disgraceful  and  a wicked 
misdeed ! 

Dem.  {aside ^ to  Ghremes.)  It’s  all  up  with  you. 

Phor.  Was  ever  any  thing  now  more  ungenerously  done  ? 
Your  men,  who,  when  they  come  to  their  wives,  then  become 
incapacitated  from  old  age. 

Naus.  Demipho,  I appeal  to  you ; for  with  that  man  it  is 
irksome  for  me  to  speak.  Were  these  those  frequent  journeys 
imd  long  visits  at  Lemnos?  Was  this  the  lowness  of  prices 
that  reduced  our  rents  ? 

Dem.  Nausistrata,  I don’t  deny  that  in  this  matter  he  has 
been  deserving  of  censure ; but  still,  it  may  be  pardoned. 

Phor.  {apart.)  He  is  talking  to  the  dead. 

Dem.  For  he  did  this  neither  through  neglect  or  aversion 
to  yourself.  About  fifteen  years  since,  in  a drunken  fit,  he 
had  an  intrigue  with  this  poor  woman,  of  whom  this  girl  v/as 
born,  nor  did  he  ever  touch  her  afterward.  She  is  dead  and 
gone  : the  only  difficulty  that  remained  in  this  matter.  Where- 
fore, I do  beg  of  you,  that,  as  in  other  things,  you’ll  bear  this 
with  patience. 

Naus.  Why  should  I with  patience?  I could  wish,  afflict- 
ed as  I am,  that  there  were  an  end  now  of  this  matter.  But 
how  can  I hope?  Am  I to  suppose  that,  at  his  age,  he  will 
not  offend  in  future?  Was  he  not  an  old  man  then,  if  old 
age  makes  people  behave  themselves  decently  ? Are  my  looks 
and  my  age  more  attractive  now,  Demipho?  What  do  you 
advance  to  me,  to  make  me  expect  or  hope  that  this  will  not 
happen  any  more  ? 

Phor.  {in  a loud  voice.)  Those  who  have^  a mind  to  come 

^ Those  who  have) — Vcr.  1025.  He  here  uses  the  terms  which  it  was 


3G0 


PHORMIO;  OR, 


[Act  V.  • 


to  the  funeral  of  Chremes,  why  now’s  their  time.  ’Tis  thus 
I retaliate : come  now,  let  him  challenge  Phormio  who 
pleases:  I’ll  have  him  victimizecR  with  just  a like  mischance. 
Why  then,  let  him  return  again  into  her  good  graces.  I 
have  now  had  revenge  enough.  She  has  got  something 
for  her  as  long  as  she  lives,  to  be  forever  ringing  into  his 
ears. 

Naus.  But  it  was  because  I deserved  this,  I suppose ; why 
should  I now,  Demipho,  make  mention  of  each  particular, 
how  I have  conducted  myself  toward  him  ? 

Dem.  I know  it  all,  as  well  as  yourself. 

Naus.  Does  it  appear,  then,  that  I deserved  this  treat- 
ment ? 

Dem.  Far  from  it : but  since,  by  reproaching,  it  can  not 
now  be  undone,  forgive  him : he  entreats  you — he  begs  your 
pardon — owns  his  fault — makes  an  apology.  What  would 
you  have  more  % 

PiiOK.  (aside.)  But  really,  before  she  grants  pardon  to  him, 
I must  take  care  of  myself  and  Phsedria.  {To  Nausistrata.) 
Hark  you,  Nausistrata,  before  you  answer  him  without  think- 
ing, listen  to  me. 

Naus.  What’s  the  matter  ? 

PiiOR.  I got  out  of  him  thirty  minas  by  a stratagem.  I 
give  them  to  your  son ; he  paid  them  to  a Procurer  for  liis 
mistress. 

CiiKEM.  Ha!  what  is  it  you  say? 

PnOR.  (sneeringhj.)  Does  it  seem  to  you  so  very  im- 
proper for  your  son,  a young  man,  to  keep  one  mistress, 
while  you  have  two  wives?  Are  you  ashamed  of  nothing? 
With  what  face  will  you  censure  him?  Answer  me  that. 

Dem.  He  shall  do  as  you  wish. 

Naus.  Nay,  that  you  may  now  know  my  determination,  I 
neither  forgive  nor  promise  any  thing,  nor  give  any  answer, 

customary  to  employ  in  the  celebration  of  a public  funeral.  See  also 
the  form  of  proclaiming  an  auction,  at  the  end  of  the  Menaechmi  of 
Plautus. 

^ Have  him  victimized) — Ver.  1027.  “ Mactatus”  was  the  term  applied 
to  the  pouring  of  wine  and  frankincense  on  the  victim  about  to  be  sacri- 
liced,  on  which  it  was  said  to  be  “magis  auctus,”  “ increased,”  or  “ am- 
plified which,  in  time,  became  corrupted  into  the  word  ‘‘  mactatus,” 
or  ‘‘mactus.” 


Sc.  II.] 


THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


3G1 


before  I see  my  son  : to  his  decision  I leave  every  thing. 
What  he  bids  me,  I shall  do. 

Dem.  You  are  a wise  woman,  Nausistrata. 

Naus.  Does  that  satisfy  you,  Chremes 

Chrem.  Yes,  indeed,  I come  off  well,  and  fully  to  my  satis- 
faction ; indeed,  beyond  my  expectation. 

Naus.  {to  Phormio.)  Do  you  tell  me,  Vvdiat  is  your  name? 

Phor.  What,  mine*?  Phormio;  a well-wisher  to  your 
family,  upon  my  honor,  and  to  your  son  Phsedria  in  par- 
ticular. 

Naus.  Then,  Phormio,  on  my  word,  henceforward  Pll 
both  do  and  say  for  you  all  I can,  and  whatever  you  may 
desire. 

Phor.  You  speak  obligingly. 

Naus.  V faith,  it  is  as  you  deserve. 

Phor.  First,  then,  will  you  do  this,  Nausistrata,  at  once, 
to  please  me,  and  to  make  your  husband’s  eyes  ache  with  vex- 
ation f 

Naus.  With  all  my  heart. 

Phor.  Invite  me  to  dinner. 

Naus.  Assuredly  indeed,  I do  invite  you. 

Dem.  Let  us  now  away  in-doors. 

Chrem.  By  all  means;  but  where  is  Phsedria,  our  arbi- 
trator 

Phor.  I’ll  have  him  here  just  now.  {To  the  Audience.) 
Fare  you  well,  and  grant  us  your  applause.^ 

^ Grant  us  your  applause) — Ver.  1054.  Thus  concludes  the  last,  and 
certainly  not  the  least  meritorious  of  the  Plays  of  our  Author;  indeed, 
for  genuine  comic  spirit,  it  may  challenge  comparison  with  the  Eunuch, 
which  is  in  general  considered  to  be  the  best. 

Q 


362 


PHORMIO;  OR, 


Additional  Scene. 

{Which  is'cjeneralhj  considered  to  he  spurious.) 

Enter  Pii^dkia  and  Piioiimio,  fi'om  opposite  sides  of  ike  stage. 

PiiiED.  Assuredly  there  is  a God,  who  both  hears  and  sees 
what  we  do.  And  I do  not  consider  that  to  be  true  which  is 
commonly  said:  ‘‘Fortune  frames  and  fashions  the  affairs  of 
mankind,  just  as  she  pleases.’’ 

Phor.  {aside,)  Heyday!  what  means  this?  I’ve  met 
Avith  Socrates,  not  Phaedria,  so  far  as  I see.  Why  hesi- 
tate to  go  up  and  address  him?  {Accosting  hm.)  How 
now,  Phmdria,  Avhence  have  you  acquired  this  new  wisdom, 
and  derived  sucli  great  delight,  as  you  show  by  your  counte- 
nance ? 

Phjed.  O Avelcome,  mg  friend  ; O most  delightful  Phormio, 
welcome ! There’s  not  a person  in  all  the  Avorld  I could  more 
wish  just  now  to  meet  than  yourself. 

Phor.  Pray,  tell  me  w^hat  is  the  matter. 

PiiJED.  Aye,  faith,  I have  to  beg  of  you,  that  you  will  list- 
en to  it.  My  Pamphila  is  a citizen  of  Attica,  and  of  noble 
birth,  and  rich. 

Phor.  What  is  it  you  tell  me?  Are  you  dreaming, 
pray  ? 

Ph^d.  Upon  my  faith.  I’m  saying  what’s  true. 

Phor.  Yes,  and  this,  too,  is  a true  saying:  “You’ll  have 
no  great  difficulty  in  believing  that  to  be  true,  which  you 
greatly  wush  to  be  so.” 

Ph^d.  Nay,  but  do  listen,  I beg  of  you,  to  all  the  won- 
derful things  I have  to  tell  you  of.  It  was  while  thinking 
of  this  to  myself,  that  I just  now  burst  forth  into  those  ex- 
pressions which  you  heard — that  we,  and  what  relates  to 
us,  are  ruled  by  the  sanction  of  the  Gods,  and  not  by  blind 
chance. 

Phor.  I’ve  been  for  some  time  in  a state  of  suspense. 

Ph^d.  Do  you  know  Phanocrates  ? 

Phor.  As  well  as  I do  yourself. 

Ph.^d.  The  rich  man? 


THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


363 


Phor.  I understand. 

Pii^D.  He  is  the  father  of  Pamphila.  Not  to  detain  you, 
these  were  the  circumstances : Calchas  was  his  servant,  a 
worthless,  wicked  fellow.  Intending  to  run  away  from  the 
house,  he  carried  off  this  girl,  whom  her  father  was  bringing 
up  in  the  country,  then  five  years  old,  and,  secretly  taking  her 
with  him  to  Eubma,  sold  her  to  Lycus,  a merchant.  This 
person,  a long  time  after,  sold  her,  when  now  grown  up,  to 
Dorio.  She,  however^^  knew  that  she  was  the  daughter  of 
parents  of  rank,  inasmuch  as  she  recollected  herself  being  at- 
tended and  trained  up  by  female  servants:  the  name  of  her 
parents  she  didn’t  recollect. 

PiiOR.  Plow,  then,  were  they  discovered  ? 

Pii^D.  Stay ; I was  coming  to  that.  This  runaway  was 
caught  yesterday,  and  sent  back  to  Phanocrates:  he  related 
the  wonderful  circumstances  I have  mentioned  about  the  girl, 
and  how  she  was  sold  to  Lycus,  and  afterward  to  Dorio. 
Phanocrates  sent  immediately,  and  claimed  his  daughter ; but 
when  he  learned  that  she  had  been  sold,  he  came  running  to 
me. 

Phor.  O,  how  extremely  fortunate ! 

PiiiED.  Phanocrates  has  no  objection  to  my  marrying  her ; 
nor  has  my  father,  I imagine. 

Phor.  Trust  me  for  that ; I’ll  have  all  this  matter  man- 
aged for  you  ; Phormio  has  so  arranged  it,  that  you  shall  not 
be  a suppliant  to  your  father,  but  his  judge. 

Ph^d.  You  are  joking. 

Phor.  So  it  is,  I tell  you.  Do  you  only  give  me  the  thirty 
minae  which  Dorio 

Ph^.d.  You  put  me  well  in  mind ; I understand  you ; you 
may  have  them  ; for  he  must  give  them  back,  as  the  law  for- 
bids a free  woman  to  be  sold ; and,  on  my  faith,  I do  rejoice 
that  an  opportunity  is  afforded  me  of  rewarding  you,  and 
taking  a hearty  vengeance  upon  him  ; a monster  of  a fellow  ! 
he  has  feelings  more  hardened  than  iron. 

Phor.  Now,  Phasdria,  I return  you  thanks ; I’ll  make  you 
a return  upon  occasion,  if  ever  I have  the  opportunity.  Yon 
impose  a heavy  task  upon  me,  to  be  contending  with  you  in 
good  offices,  as  I can  not  in  wealth  ; and  in  affection  and  zeal, 
I must  repay  you  what  I owe.  To  be  surpassed  in  deserving 
well,  is  a disgrace  to  a man  of  principle. 


364  rilORMIO;  OK,  THE  SCHEMING  PARASITE. 


Pii^D.  Services  badly  bestowed,  I take  to  be  disservices. 
But  I do  not  know  any  person  more  grateful  and  more  mind- 
ful of  a service  than  yourself.  What  is  it  you  were  just  now 
mentioning  about  my  father  ? 

Phor.  There  are  many  particulars,  which  at  present  I have 
not  the  opportunity  to  relate.  Let’s  go  in-doors,  for  Nausis- 
trata  has  invited  me  to  dinner,  and  I’m  afraid  we  may  keep 
them  waiting. 

Ph^d.  Very  well;  follow  me.  (To  the  Audience.)  Fare 
you  well,  and  grant  us  your  applause. 


THE 


COMEDIES 

or 

E R E N C E. 

TRA^f SLATED  INTO 

FAMILIAR  BLANK  VERSE, 

BY  GEORGE  COLMAN. 


Primores  populi  arripuit  popuUimque  tributim : 
Scilicet  uni  sequus  virtuti  atque  ejus  araicis. 
Quin  ubi  se  a vulgo  et  scena  in  secreta  remorant 
Virtus  Scipiadse  et  mitis  sapientia  Ljeli, 

Nugari  cum  illo  et  discincti  ludere,  donee 
Decoqueretur  olus,  soliti. 


Hosaob. 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Prologue. 

SiMO. 

Pamphilus. 

Chremes. 

Charinus. 


Glycerium. 

Mysis. 

Lesbia. 

Archyllis. 


Byrrhia. 
Dromo. 
Servants,  etc. 


Crito. 

SosiA. 

Davus. 


Scene,  Athens. 


PROLOGUE. 


The  Bard,  when  first  he  gave  his  mind  to  write, 
Thought  it  his  only  business,  that  his  Plays 
Should  please  the  people:  but  it  now  falls  out, 

He  finds,  much  otherwise,  and  wastes,  perforce, 

His  time  in  writing  Prologues;  not  to  tell 
The  argument,  but  to  refute  the  slanders 
Broach’d  by  the  malice  of  an  older  Bard. 

And  mark  what  vices  he  is  charg’d  withal! 
Menander  wrote  the  Andrian  and  Perinthian : 

Know  one,  and  you  know  both  ; in  argument 
Less  dilf’rent  than  in  sentiment  and  style. 

What  suited  with  the  Andrian  he  confesses 
From  the  Perinthian  he  transferr’d,  and  us’d 
For  his:  and  this  it  is  these  sland’rers  blame, 
Proving  by  deep  and  learned  disputation. 

That  Fables  should  not  be  contaminated. 

Troth!  all  the  knowledge  is  they  nothing  know; 
Who,  blaming  him,  blame  Najvius,  Plautus,  Ennius, 
Whose  great  example  is  his  precedent ; 

Whose  negligence  he’d  v/ish  to  emulate 
Rather  than  therr  dark  diligence.  Henceforth, 

Let  them,  I give  them  warning,  be  at  peace. 

And  cease  to  rail,  lest  they  be  made  to  know 
Their  own  misdeeds.  Be  favorable!  sit 
With  equal  mind,  and  hear  our  play;  that  hence 
Ye  may  conclude,  what  hope  to  entertain, 

The  comedies  he  may  hereafter  write 
Shall  merit  approbation  or  contempt. 


368 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


[Act  1. 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 

Scene  I. 

SiMO,  SosiA,  and  Servants  with  Provisions. 

SiMo.  Carry  those  things  in:  go!  (^Exit  Servants, 

Sosia,  come  here ; 

A word  with  you ! 

SosiA.  I understand : that  these 
Be  ta’en  due  care  of. 

SiMo.  Quite  another  thing. 

SosiA.  What  can  my  art  do  more  for  you? 

SiMO.  This  business 

Needs  not  that  art ; but  those  good  qualities, 

Which  I have  ever  known  abide  in  you, 

Fidelity  and  secrecy. 

SosiA.  I wait 
Your  pleasure. 

SiMO.  Since  I bought  you,  from  a boy 
How  just  and  mild  a servitude  you’ve  pass’d 
With  me,  you’re  conscious : from  a purchas’d  slave 
I made  you  free,  because  you  serv’d  me  freely: 

The  greatest  recompense  1 could  bestow. 

SosiA.  I do  remember. 

Si.MO.  Nor  do  I repent. 

SosiA.  If  I have  ever  done,  or  now  do  aught 
That’s  pleasing  to  you,  Simo,  I am  glad, 

And  thankful  that  you  hold  my  service  good' 

And  yet  this  troubles  me : for  this  detail, 

Forcing  your  kindness  on  my  memory, 

Seems  to  reproach  me  of  ingratitude. 

Oh  tell  me  then  at  once,  what  would  you?  Sir! 

Simo.  I will ; and  this  I must  advise  you  first ; 

The  nuptial  you  suppose  preparing  now. 

Is  all  unreal. 

SosiA.  Why  pretend  it  then  ? 

Simo.  You  shall  hear  all  from  first  to  last : and  thus 
The  conduct  of  my  son,  my  own  intent. 

And  what  part  you’re  to  act,  you’ll  know  at  once. 

For  my  son,  Sosia,  now  to  manhood  grown. 

Had  freer  scope  of  living : for  before 
How  might  you  know,  or  how  indeed  divine 
His  disposition,  good  or  ill,  while  youth. 

Fear,  and  a master,  all  constrain’d  him  ? 

Sosia.  True. 

Simo.  Though  most,  as  is  the  bent  of  youth,  apply 
Their  mind  to  some  one  object,  horses,  hounds. 

Or  to  the  study  of  philosophy ; 


Sc.  LJ 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


869 


Yet  none  of  these,  beyond  the  rest,  did  he 
Pursue  ; and  yet,  in  moderation,  all. 

I was  o’erjoy’d. 

SosiA.  And  not  without  good  cause. 

For  this  I hold  to  be  the  Golden  Rule 

Of  Life,  too  much  of  one  thing’s  good  for  nothing. 

SiMO.  So  did  he  shape  his  life  to  bear  himself 
With  ease  and  frank  good-humor  unto  all ; 

Mix’d  in  what  company  soe’er,  to  them 
He  wholly  did  resign  himself ; and  join’d 
In  their  pursuits,  opposing  nobody. 

Nor  e’er  assuming  to  himself : and  thus 
With  ease,  and  free  from  envy,  may  you  gain 
Praise,  and  conciliate  friends. 

SosiA.  He  rul’d  his  life 
By  prudent  maxims  : for,  as  times  go  now, 
Compliance  raises  friends,  and  truth  breeds  hate. 

SiMO.  Meanwhile,  ’tis  now  about  three  years  ago, 
A certain  woman  from  the  isle  of  Andros, 

Came  o’er  to  settle  in  this  neighborhood. 

By  poverty  and  cruel  kindred  driv’n : 

Handsome  and  young. 

SosiA.  Ah  ! I begin  to  fear 
Some  mischief  from  this  Andrian. 

SiMO.  At  first 

Modest  and  thriftily,  though  poor,  she  liv’d, 

With  her  own  hands  a homely  livelihood 
Scarce  earning  from  the  distaff  and  the  loom. 

But  when  a lover  came,  with  promis’d  gold, 
Another,  and  another,  as  the  mind 
Falls  easily  from  labor  to  delight. 

She  took  their  offers,  and  set  up  the  trade. 

They,  who  were  then  her  chief  gallants,  by  chance 
Drew  thither,  as  oft  happen  with  young  men 
My  son  to  join  their  company.  So,  so! 

Said  I within  myself,  he’s  smit ! he  has  it ! 

And  in  the  morning  as  I saw  their  servants 
Run  to  and  fro.  I’d  often  call,  here,  boy! 

Prithee  now,  who  had  Chrysis  yesterday  ? 

The  name  of  this  same  Andrian. 

SosiA.  I take  you. 

SiMo.  Phasdrus  they  said,  Clinia,  or  Niccratus, 
For  all  these  three  then  follow’d  her. — Well,  well. 
But  what  of  Pamphilus? — Of  Pamphilus  ! 

He  supp’d,  and  paid  his  reck’ning. — I was  glad. 
Another  day  I made  the  like  inquiry. 

But  still  found  nothing  touching  Pamphilus. 

Thus  I believ’d  his  virtue  prov’d,  and  hence 
Thought  him  a miracle  of  continence  ; 

For  he  who  struggles  with  such  spirits,  yet 
Holds  in  that  commerce  an  unshaken  mind, 

Q 2 


370 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


[Act  L 


May  well  be  trusted  with  the  governance 
Of  his  own  conduct.  Nor  was  I alone 
Delighted  with  his  life,  but  all  the  world 
With  one  accord  said  all  good  things,  and  prais’d 
My  happy  fortunes,  who  possess’d  a son 
So  good,  so  lib’rally  disposed. — In  short 
Chremes,  seduc’d  by  this  fine  character. 

Came  of  his  own  accord,  to  offer  me 

His  only  daughter  with  a handsome  portion 

In  marriage  with  my  son.  I lik’d  the  match ; 

Betroth’d  my  son  ; and  this  was  pitch’d  upon, 

By  joint  agreement,  for  the  wedding-day. 

SosiA.  And  what  prevents  it’s  being  so? 

SiMO.  I’ll  tell  you. 

In  a few  days,  the  treaty  still  on  foot. 

This  neighbor  Chrysis  dies. 

SosiA.  In  happy  hour : 

Happy  for  you ! I was  afraid  of  Chrysis. 

SiMO.  My  son,  on  this  event,  was  often  there 
With  those  who  were  the  late  gallants  of  Chrysis; 
Assisted  to  prepare  the  funeral. 

Ever  condol’d,  and  sometimes  wept  with  them. 

This  pleas’d  me  then ; for  in  myself  I thought, 

Since  merely  for  a small  acquaintance-sake 
He  takes  this  woman’s  death  so  nearly,  what 
If  he  himself  had  lov’d?  What  would  he  feel 
For  me,  his  father  ? All  these  things,  I thought, 

Were  but  the  tokens  and  the  offices 
Of  a humane  and  tender  disposition. 

In  short,  on  his  account,  e’en  I myself 
Attend  the  funeral,  suspecting  yet 
No  harm. 

SosiA.  And  what — 

SiMO.  You  shall  hear  all.  The  Corpse 
Borne  forth,  we  follow : when  among  the  women 
Attending  there,  I chanc’d  to  cast  my  eyes. 

Upon  one  girl,  in  form 

SosiA.  Not  bad,  perhaps 

SiMo.  And  look ; so  modest,  and  so  beauteous,  Sosia ! 
That  nothing  could  exceed  it.  As  she  seem’d 
To  grieve  beyond  the  rest;  and  as  her  air 
Appear’d  more  liberal  and  ingenuous, 

I went  and  ask’d  her  women  who  she  was. 

Sister,  they  said,  to  Chrysis  : when  at  once 
It  struck  my  mind ; So ! so ! the  secret’s  out ; 

Hence  were  those  tears,  and  hence  all  that  compassion! 
Sosia.  Alas ! I fear  how  this  affair  will  end ! 

SiMo.  Meanwhile  the  funeral  proceeds ; we  follow ; 
Come  to  the  sepulchre : the  body’s  plac’d 
Upon  the  pile,  lamented : whereupon 
This  sister  I was  speaking  of,  all  wild. 


Sc.  L] 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


371 


Ran  to  the  flames  with  peril  of  her  life. 

Then ! there ! the  frighted  Pamphilus  betrays 
His  well-dissembled  and  long-hidden  love : 

Runs  up,  and  takes  her  round  the  waist,  and  criers, 

Oh  my  Glycerium!  what  is  it  you  do? 

Why,  why  endeavor  to  destroy  yourself? 

Then  she,  in  such  a manner,  that  you  thence 
Might  easily  perceive  their  long,  long,  love, 

Threw  herself  back  into  his  arms,  and  wept, 

Oh  how  familiarly! 

SosiA.  How  say  you! 

SiMO.  I 

Return  in  anger  thence,  and  hurt  at  heart. 

Yet  had  no  cause  sufficient  for  reproof. 

What  have  I done  ? he’d  say ; or  how  deserv’d 
Reproach?  or  how  offended.  Father? — Her 
Who  meant  to  cast  herself  into  the  flames, 

I stopped.  A fair  excuse! 

SosiA.  You’re  in  the  right ; 

For  him,  who  sav’d  a life,  if  you  reprove, 

What  will  you  do  to  him  that  offers  wrong? 

SiMO.  Chremes  next  day  came  open-mouth’d  to  me: 

Oh  monstrous ! he  had  found  that  Pamphilus 
Was  married  to  this  stranger  woman. 

Deny  the  fact  most  steadily,  and  he 
As  steadily  insists.  In  short  we  part 
On  such  bad  terms,  as  let  me  understand 
He  would  refuse  his  daughter. 

SosiA.  Did  not  you 
Then  take  your  son  to  task? 

SiMO.  Not  even  this 
Appear’d  sufficient  for  reproof. 

SosiA.  How  so? 

SiMo.  Father,  (he  might  have  said)  You  have,  you  know, 
Prescrib’d  a term  to  all  these  things  yourself. 

The  time  is  near  at  hand,  when  I must  live 
According  to  the  humor  of  another. 

Meanwhile,  permit  me  now  to  please  my  own ! 

SosiA.  What  cause  remains  to  chide  him  then  ? 

SiMO.  If  he 

Refuses,  on  account  of  this  amour, 

To  take  a wife,  such  obstinate  denial 
Must  be  considered  as  his  first  offense. 

Wherefore  I now,  from  this  mock-nuptial, 

Endeavor  to  draw  real  cause  to  chide : 

And  that  same  rascal  Davus,  if  he’s  plotting, 

That  he  may  let  his  counsel  run  to  waste. 

Now,  when  his  knaveries  can  do  no  harm: 

Who,  I believe,  with  all  his  might  and  main 
Will  strive  to  cross  my  purposes ; and  that 
More  to  plague  me,  than  to  oblige  my  son. 


372 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


[Act  I. 


SosiA.  Why  so? 

SiMO.  Why  so!  Bad  mind,  bad  heart:  But  if 
I catch  him  at  his  tricks! — But  what  need  words? 

-If,  as  I wish  it  may,  it  should  appear 
That  Pamphilus  objects  not  to  the  match, 

Chremes  remains  to  be  prevail’d  upon. 

And  will,  I hope,  consent.  ’Tis  now  your  place 
To  counterfeit  these  nuptials  cunningly ; 

To  frighten  Davus;  and  observe  my  son, 

What  he’s  about,  what  plots  they  hatch  together. 

SosiA.  Enough  ; I’ll  take  due  care.  Let’s  now  go  in ! 
SiMO.  Go  first : I’ll  follow  you.  {Exit  gosiA. 

Beyond  all  doubt 

My  son’s  averse  to  take  a wife:  I saw 
How  frighten’d  Davus  was,  but  even  now. 

When  he  was  told  a nuptial  was  preparing. 

But  here  he  comes. 


Scene  II. 

Enter  Davus. 

Davus  {to  himself').  I thought  ’twere  wonderful 
If  this  affair  went  off*  so  easily  ; 

And  dreaded  where  my  master’s  great  good-humor 
Would  end  at  last:  who,  after  he  perceiv’d 
The  Lady  was  refus’d,  ne’er  said  a word 
To  any  of  us,  nor  e’er  took  it  ill. 

SiMO  {behind).  But  now  he  will ; to  your  cost  too,  J war- 
rant you ! 

Davus.  This  was  his  scheme ; to  lead  us  by  the  n-^se 
In  a false  dream  of  joy  ; then  all  agape 
With  hope,  even  then  that  we  were  most  secure. 

To  have  o’erwhelm’d  us,  nor  have  giv’n  us  time 
To  cast  about  which  way  to  break  the  match. 

Cunning  old  Gentleman ! 

SiMO.  What  says  the  rogue? 

Davus.  My  master  and  I did  not  see  him! 

SiMo.  Davus! 

Davus.  Well!  what  now?  {Pretending  not  to  see  him.) 

, SiMO.  Here  ! this  way ! 

Davus.  What  can  he  want?  {To  himself.) 

SiMO  {overhearing).  What  say  you  ? 

Davus.  Upon  what?  Sir. 

SiMO.  Upon  what! 

The  world  reports  that  my  son  keeps  a mistress. 

Davus.  Oh,  to  be  sure,  the  world  cares  much  for  that. 
SiMO.  D’ye  mind  what  I say?  Sirrah! 

Davus.  Nothing  more.  Sir. 

SiMO.  But  for  me  now  to  dive  into  these  matters 
May  seem  perhaps  like  too  severe  a father: 


III.] 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


373 


For  all  his  youthful  pranks  concern  not  me. 

While  ’twas  in  season,  he  had  my  free  leave 
To  take  his  swing  of  pleasure.  But  to-day 
Brings  on  another  stage  of  life,  and  asks 
For  other  manners : wherefore  I desire. 

Or,  if  you  please,  I do  beseech  you,  Dayus, 

To  set  him  right  again. 

Dayus.  What  means  all  this? 

SiMO.  All,  who  are  fond  of  mistresses,  dislike 
The  thoughts  of  matrimony. 

Dayus.  So  they  say. 

SiMO.  And  then,  if  such  a person  entertains 
An  evil  counselor  in  those  affairs. 

He  tampers  with  the  mind,  and  mstkes  bad  worse. 

Dayus.  Troth,  I don’t  comprehend  one  word  of  this. 
SiMO.  No? 

Dayus.  No.  I’m  Davus,  and  not  CEdipus. 

SiMO.  Then  for  the  rest  I have  to  say  to  you, 

You  choose  I should  speak  plainly. 

Dayus.  By  all  means. 

SiMO.  If  I discover  then,  that  in  this  match 
You  get  to  your  dog’s  tricks  to  break  it  off’. 

Or  try  to  show  how  shrewd  a rogue  you  are. 

I’ll  have  you  beat  to  mummy,  and  then  thrown 
Im  prison.  Sirrah ! upon  this  condition. 

That  when  I take  you  out  again,  I swear 
To  grind  there  in  your  stead.  D’ye  take  me  now? 

Or  don’t  you  understand  this  neither? 

Dayus.  Clearly. 

You  have  spoke  out  at  last : the  very  thing ! 

Quite  plain  and  home  ; and  nothing  round  about.  ■ 

SiMO.  I could  excuse  your  tricks  in  any  thing. 

Bather  than  this. 

Davus.  Good  words  I I beg  of  you. 

SiMO.  You  laugh  at  me:  well,  well! — I give  you  warning 
That  you  do  nothing  rashly,  nor  pretend 
You  was  not  advertis’d  of  this — take  heed!  {Exit, 

Scene  III. 

Dayus. 

Troth  Davus,  ’tis  high  time  to  look  about  you; 

No  room  for  sloth,  as  far  as  I can  sound 
The  sentiments  of  our  old  gentleman 
About  this  marriage,  which  if  not  fought  off. 

And  cunningly,  spoils  me,  or  my  poor  master. 

I know  not  what  to  do;  nor  can  resolve 
To  help  the  son,  or  to  obey  the  father. 

If  I desert  poor  Pamphilus,  alas ! 

I tremble  for  h\>  lif?  ; if  I assist  him, 


374 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


[Act  I. 


I dread  his  father’s  threats : a shrewd  old  Cuff, 

Not  easily  deceiv’d.  For  first  of  all, 

He  knows  of  this  amour ; and  watches  me 
With  jealous  eyes,  lest  I devise  some  trick 
To  break  the  match.  If  he  discovers  it. 

Woe  to  poor  Davus!  nay,  if  he’s  inclin’d 
To  punish  me,  he’ll  seize  on  some  pretense 
To  throw  me  into  prison,  right  or  wrong. 

Another  mischief  is,  this  Andrian, 

Mistress  or  wife,  ’s  with  child  by  Pamphilus. 

And  do  but  mark  their  confidence!  ’tis  sure 
The  dotage  of  mad  people,  not  of  lovers. 

Whate’er  she  shall  bring  forth,  they  have  resolv’d 
To  educate : and  have  among  themselves 
Devis’d  the  strangest  story ! that  Glycerium 
Is  an  Athenian  citizen.  ‘‘There  was 
Once  on  a time  a certain  merchant,  shipwreck’d 
Upon  the  isle  of  Andros ; there  he  died : 

And  Chrysis’  father  took  this  orphan-wreck, 

Then  but  an  infant,  under  his  protection.” 

Ridiculous ! ’tis  all  romance  to  me : 

And  yet  the  story  pleases  them.  And  see! 

Mysis  comes  forth.  But  I must  to  the  Forum 
To  look  for  Pamphilus,  for  fear  his  father 
Should  find  him  first,  and  take  him  unawares. 

Scene  IV. 

Enter  Mysis.  {Speaking  to  a servant  ivithin,') 

I hear,  Archyllis ; I hear  what  you  say : 

You  beg  me  to  bring  Lesbia.  By  my  troth 
That  Lesbia  is  a drunken  wretch,  hot-headed, 

Nor  worthy  to  be  trusted  with  a woman 
In  her  first  labor.  Well,  well!  she  shall  come. 

— Observe  how  earnest  the  old  gossip  is,  {Coming forward) 
Because  this  Lesbia  is  her  pot-companion. 

— Oh  grant  my  mistress,  Heav’n,  a safe  delivery. 

And  let  the  midwife  trespass  any  where 
Rather  than  here ! — But  what  is  it  I see  ? 

Pamphilus  all  disorder’d : How  I fear 

The  cause!  I’ll  wait  a while,  that  I may  know 

If  this  commotion  means  us  any  ill. 

Scene  V. 

Pajipiiilus,  Mysis  behind, 

Pam.  Is  this  well  done  ? or  like  a man  ? — Is  this 
The  action  of  a father? 

Mysis.  What’s  the  matter? 


Sc.  V.]  THE  ANDRIAN.  375 

Pam.  Oh  all  ye  pow’rs  of  heav’n  and  earth,  what’s  wrong 
If  this  is  not  so? — If  he  was  determin’d 
That  I to-day  should  marry,  should  I not 
Have  had  some  previous  notice? — ought  not  he 
To  have  inform’d  me  of  it  long  ago  ? 

Mysis.  Alas ! what’s  this  I hear  ? 

Pam.  And  C hr  ernes  too. 

Who  had  refus’d  to  trust  me  with  his  daughter. 

Changes  his  mind,  because  I change  not  mine. 

Can  he  then  be  so  obstinately  bent 
To  tear  me  from  Glycerium  ? To  lose  her 
Is  losing  life. — Was  ever  man  so  cross’d. 

So  curs’d  as  I ? — Oh  pow’rs  of  heav’n  and  earth ! 

Can  I by  no  means  fly  from  this  alliance 
With  Chremes’  family? — ^^so  oft  contemn’d 
And  held  in  scorn ! — all  done,  concluded  all ! — 

Rejected,  then  recall’d: — and  why? — unless, 

For  so  I must  suspect,  they  breed  some  monster. 

Whom  as  they  can  obtrude  on  no  one  else. 

They  bring  to  me. 

Mysis.  Alas,  alas ! this  speech 
lias  struck  me  almost  dead  with  fear. 

Pam.  And  then 

My  father  I — what  to  say  of  him? — Oh  shame! 

A thing  of  so  much  consequence  to  treat 
So  negligently! — For  but  even  now 
Passing  me  in  the  forum,  Pamphilus ! 

To-day’s  your  wedding-day,  said  he  : prepare  ; 

Go,  get  you  home ! — This  sounded  in  my  ears 
As  if  he  said,  go,  hang  yourself! — I stood 
Confounded.  Tdiink  you  I could  speak  one  word? 

Or  offer  an  excuse,  how  weak  soe’er? 

No,  I was  dumb: — and  had  I been  aware. 

Should  any  ask  wdiat  I’d  have  done,  I would. 

Rather  than  this,  do  any  thing. — But  now 
What  to  resolve  upon? — So  many  cares 
Entangle  me  at  once,  and  rend  my  mind, 

Pulling  it  diff’rent  ways.  My  love,  compassion. 

This  urgent  match,  my  rev’rence  for  my  father. 

Who  yet  has  ever  been  so  gentle  to  me. 

And  held  so  slack  a rein  upon  my  pleasures. 

— And  I oppose  him  ? — Racking  thought ! — Ah  me  ! 

I know  not  what  to  do. 

Mysis.  Alas,  I fear 

Where  this  uncertainty  will  end.  ’Twere  best 
He  should  confer  with  her;  or  I at  least 
Speak  touching  her  to  him.  For  while  the  mind 
Hangs  in  suspense,  a trifle  turns  the  scale. 

Pam.  Who’s  there  ? what,  Mysis  ! Save  you  ! 

Mysis.  Save  you!  Sir.  {Coming  forward,') 

Pam.  How’  does  she  ? 


37G 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


[Act  I.,  Sc.  V. 


Mysis.  How  ! oppress’d  with  wretchedness. 

To-day  supremely  wretched,  as  to-day 
Was  formerly  appointed  for  your  wedding. 

And  then  she  fears  Jest  you  desert  her. 

Pam.  I! 

Desert  her?  Can  I think  on’t?  or  deceive 
A wretched  maid ! who  trusted  to  my  care 
Her  life  and  honor.  Her  whom  I have  held 
Near  to  my  heart,  and  cherish’d  as  my  wife  ? 

Or  leave  her  modest  and  well  nurtur’d  mind 
Through  want  to  be  corrupted  ? Never,  never. 

Mysis.  No  doubt,  did  it  depend  on  you  alone ; 

But  if  constrain’d 

Pam.  D’ye  think  me  then  so  vile? 

Or  so  ungrateful,  so  inhuman,  savage. 

Neither  long  intercourse,  nor  love,  nor  shame. 

Can  make  me  keep  my  faith  ? 

Mysis.  I only  know 

That  she  deserves  you  should  remember  her. 

Pam.  I should  remember  her?  Oh,  Mysis,  Mysis! 
The  words  of  Chrysis  touching  my  Glycerium 
Are  written  in  my  heart.  On  her  death-bed 
She  call’d  me.  I approach’d  her.  You  retir’d. 

We  were  alone  ; and  Chrysis  thus  began  : 

My  Pamphilus,  you  see  the  youth  and  beauty 
Of  this  unhappy  maid : and  well  you  know. 

These  are  but  feeble  guardians  to  preserve 
Her  fortune  or  her  fame.  By  this  right  hand 
I do  beseech  you,  by  your  better  angel. 

By  your  tried  faith,  by  her  forlorn  condition, 

I do  conjure  you,  put  her  not  away. 

Nor  leave  her  to  distress.  If  I have  ever. 

As  my  own  brother,  lov’d  you  ; or  if  she 
Has  ever  held  you  dear  ’bove  all  the  world. 

And  ever  shown  obedience  to  your  will 

I do  bequeath  you  to  her  as  a husband. 

Friend,  Guardian,  Father:  all  our  little  wealth 

To  you  I leave,  and  trust  it  to  your  care. 

She  join’d  our  hands,  and  died. — I did  receive  her, 

And  once  receiv’d  will  keep  her. 

Mysis.  So  we  trust. 

Pam.  What  make  you  from  her? 

Mysis.  Going  for  a midwife. 

Pam.  Haste  then ! and  hark,  be  sure  take  special  heedj 
You  mention  not  a word  about  the  marriage. 

Lest  this  too  give  her  pain. 

Mysis.  I understand. 


Act  IL,  Sc.  IL] 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


ACT  THE  SECOND. 

Scene  I. 

Charinus,  Byrrhia, 

Char.  How,  Byrrhia?  Is  she  to  be  married,  say  you, 
To  Pamphilus  to-day? 

Byr.  ’Tis  even  so. 

Char.  How  do  you  know? 

Byr.  I had  it  even  now 
From  Daviis  at  the  Forum. 

Char.  Woe  is  me! 

Then  I’m  a wretch  indeed : till  now  my  mind 
Floated  ’twixt  hope  and  fear : now,  hope  remov’d, 

Stiinn’d,  and  o’erwhelm’d,  it  sinks  beneath  its  cares. 

Byr.  Nay,  prithee  master,  since  the  thing  you  wish 
Can  not  be  had,  e’en  wish  for  that  which  may! 

Char.  I wish  for  nothing  but  Philumena. 

Byr.  Ah,  how  much  wiser  were  it,  that  you  strove 
To  quench  this  passion,  than,  with  words  like  these 
To  fan  the  fire,  and  blow  it  to  a flame  ? 

Char.  How  readily  do  men  at  ease  prescribe 
To  those  who’re  sick  at  heart ! distress’d  like  me, 

You  would  not  talk  thus. 

Byr.  Well,  well,  as  you  please. 

Char.  Ha!  I see  Pamphilus.  I can  resolve 
On  any  thing,  e’er  give  up  all  for  lost. 

Byr.  What  now? 

Char.  I will  entreat  him,  beg,  beseech  him. 

Tell  him  our  course  of  love,  and  thus,  perhaps, 

At  least  prevail  upon  him  to  defer 

His  marriage  some  few  days  :•  meanwhile,  I hope. 

Something  may  happen. 

Byr.  Aye,  that  something’s  nothing. 

Char.  Byrrhia,  what  think  you?  Shall  I speak  to  him? 

Byr.  Why  not?  for  though  you  don’t  obtain  your  suit, 
He  will  at  least  imagine  you’re  prepar’d 
To  cuckold  him,  in  case  he  marries  her. 

Char.  Away,  you  hang-dog,  with  your  base  suspicions ! 

Scene  II. 

Enter  Pamphilus. 

Pam.  Charinus,  save  you! 

Char.  Save  you,  Pamphilus ! 

Imploring  comfort,  safety,  help,  and  counsel, 

You  see  me  now  before  you. 


8 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


[Act  II. 


Pam.  I do  lack 

Myself  both  help  and  counsel — But  what  mean  you  ? 

Char.  Is  this  your  wedding-day? 

Pam.  Aye,  so  they  say. 

Char.  Ah,  Pamphilus,  if  so,  this  day 
You  see  the  last  of  me. 

Pam.  How  so? 

Char.  Ah  me ! 

I dare  not  speak  it : prithee  tell  him,  Byrrhia. 

Byr.  Aye,  that  I will. 

Pam.  What  is’t? 

Byr.  He  is  in  love 
With  your  bride,  Sir. 

Pam.  r faith  so  am  not  I. 

Tell  me,  Charinus,  has  aught  further  passed 
’Twixt  you  and  her? 

Char.  Ah,  no,  no. 

Pam.  Would  there  had! 

Char.  Now  by  our  friendship,  by  my  love  I beg 

You  would  not  marry  her. 

Pam.  I will  endeavor. 

CiiAR.  If  that’s  impossible,  or  if  this  match 

Be  grateful  to  your  heart 

Pam.  My  heart ! 

Char.  At  least 

Defer  it  some  few  days  ; while  I depart, 

That  I may  not  behold  it. 

Pam.  Hear,  Charinus ; 

It  is,  I think,  scarce  honesty  in  him 
To  look  for  thanks,  who  means  no  favor.  I 
Abhor  this  marriage,  more  than  you  desire  it. 

Char.  You  have  reviv’d  me. 

Pam.  Now  if  you,  or  he. 

Your  Byrrhia  here,  can  do  or  think  of  aught ; 

Act,  plot,  devise,  invent,  strive  all  you  can 
To  make  her  yours ; and  I’ll  do  all  I can 
That  she  may  not  be  mine. 

Char.  Enough. 

Pam.  I see 

Davus,  and  in  good  time : for  he’ll  advise 
What’s  best  to  do. 

Char.  But  you,  you  sorry  rogue,  {To  Byrrhia) 

Can  give  me  no  advice,  nor  tell  me  aught, 

But  what  it  is  impertinent  to  know. 

Hence,  Sirrah,  get  you  gone ! 

Byr.  With  all  my  heart.  {Exit, 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Davus  hastily. 

Davus.  Good  Heav’ns,  what  news  I bring  I what  joyful  news! 


So.  III.] 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


879 


But  where  shall  I find  Pamphilus,  to  drive 
His  fears  away,  and  make  him  full  of  joy? 

Char.  There’s  something  pleases  him. 

Pam.  No  matter  what. 

He  has  not  heard  of  our  ill  fortune  yet. 

Davus.  And  he,  I warrant,  if  he  has  been  told 

• Of  his  intended  wedding 

Char.  Do  you  hear? 

Davus.  Poor  soul,  is  running  all  about  the  town 
In  quest  of  me.  But  whither  shall  I go  ? 

Or  which  way  run  ? 

Char.  Why  don’t  you  speak  to  him  ? 

Davus.  I’ll  go. 

Pam.  Ho  I Davus  ! Stop,  come  here ! 

Davus.  Who  calls? 

0,  Pamphilus  ! the  very  man. — Heyday ! 

Charinus  too! — Both  gentlemen,  well  met! 

I’ve  news  for  both. 

Pam.  Pm  ruin’d,  Davus. 

Davus.  Hear  me! 

Pam.  Undone ! 

Davus.  I know  your  fears. 

Char.  My  life’s  at  stake. 

Davus.  Yours  I know  also. 

Pam.  Matrimony  mine. 

Davus.  I know  it. 

Pam.  But  to-day. 

Davus.  Y"ou  stun  me;  plague! 

I tell  you  I know  ev’ry  thing:  you  fear  (2b  Charinus.) 
You  should  not  marry  her. — You  fear  you  should*  (2b  Pam.) 
Char.  The  very  thing. 

Pam.  The  same. 

Davus.  And  yet  that  same 
Is  nothing.  Mark ! 

Pam.  Nay,  rid  me  of  my  fear. 

Davus.  I will  then.  Chremes 
AYon’t  give  his  daughter  to  you. 

Pam.  How  d’ye  know  ? 

Davus.  I’m  sure  of  it.  Your  Father  but  just  now 
Takes  me  aside,  and  tells  me  ’twas  his  will 
That  you  should  wed  to-day ; with  much  beside, 

Which  now  I have  not  leisure  to  repeat. 

1,  on  the  instant,  hastening  to  find  you. 

Run  to  the  Forum  to  inform  you  of  it : 

There,  failing,  climb  an  eminence,  look  round : 

No  Pamphilus  : I light  by  chance  on  Byrrhia ; 

Inquire  ; he  hadn’t  seen  you.  Vex’d  at  heart, 

WhaVs  to  he  done  ? thought  I.  Returning  thence 
A doubt  arose  within  me.  Ha!  bad  cheer. 

The  old  man  melancholy,  and  a wedding 
Clapp’d  up  so  suddenly!  This  don’t  agree. 


380 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


[Act  II. 


Pam.  Well,  what  then  ? 

Davus.  I betook  me  instantly 
To  Chremes’  house ; but  thither  when  I came, 

Before  the  door  all  hush.  This  tickled  me. 

Pam.  You’re  in  the  right.  Proceed. 

Davus.  I watch’d  a while : 

Meantime  no  soul  went  in,  no  soul  came  out ; * 

No  matron ; in  the  house  no  ornament ; 

No  note  of  preparation.  I approach’d, 

Look’d  in 

Pam.  I uuderstand : a potent  sign  I 
Davus.  Does  this  seem  like  a nuptial? 

Pam.  I think  not, 

Davus. 

Davus.  Thinh  not,  d’ye  say  ? you  don’t  conceive : 

The  thing  is  evident.  I met  beside. 

As  I departed  thence,  with  Chremes’  boy,  ■ 

Bearing  some  pot-herbs,  and  a pennyworth 
Of  little  fishes  for  the  old  man’s  dinner. 

Char.  I am  deliver’d,  Davus,  by  your  means, 

From  all  my  apprehensions  of  to-day. 

Davus.  And  yet  you  are  undone. 

Char.  How  so?  Since  Chremes 
Will  not  consent  to  give  Philumena 
To  Pamphilus. 

Davus.  Ridiculous  ! As  if. 

Because  the  daughter  is  denied  to  him, 

She  must  of  course  wed  you.  Look  to  it  well  ; 

Court  the  old  Gentleman  through  friends,  apply, 

Or  else 

Char.  You’re  right : I will  about  it  straight. 

Although  that  hope  has  often  fail’d.  Farewell.  {Exit, 


Scene  IV. 

Pam.  What  means  my  father  then?  Why  counterfeit? 
Davus.  That  I’ll  explain.  If  he  were  angry  now, 
Merely  that  Chremes  has  refus’d  his  daughter, 

He’d  think  himself  in  fault ; and  justly  too. 

Before  the  bias  of  your  mind  is  known. 

But  granting  you  refuse  her  for  a wife, 

Then  all  the  blame  devolves  on  you,  and  then 
Comes  all  the  storm. 

Pam.  What  course  then  shall  I take? 

Shall  I submit 

Davus.  He  is  your  Father,  Sir, 

Whom  to  oppose  were  difficult ; and  then 
Glycerium’s  a lone  woman ; and  he’ll  find 
Some  course,  no  matter  what,  to  drive  her  hence. 

Pam.  To  drive  her  hence? 

Davus.  Directly. 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


381 


Pam.  Tell  me  then, 

Oh  tell  me,  Davus,  what  were  best  to  do  ? 

Davus.  Say  that  you’ll  marry  ! 

Pam.  How! 

Davus.  And  where’s  the  harm  ? 

Pam.  Say  that  I’ll  marry! 

Davus.  Why  not  ? 

Pam.  Never,  never. 

Davus.  Do  not  refuse ! 

Pam.  Persuade  not ! 

Davus.  Do  but  mark 
The  consequence. 

Pam.  Divorcement  from  Glycerium. 

And  marriage  with  the  other. 

Davus.  No  such  thing. 

Your  father,  I suppose,  accosts  you  thus. 

Vd  have  you  ived  to-day  ; — I will,  quoth  you : 

What  reason  has  he  to  reproach  you  then  ? 

Thus  shall  you  baffle  all  his  settled  schemes. 

And  put  him  to  confusion  ; all  the  while 
Secure  yourself : for  ’tis  beyond  a doubt 
That  Chremes  will  refuse  his  daughter  to  you ; 

So  obstinately  too,  you  need  not  pause. 

Or  change  these  measures,  lest  he  change  his  mind| 
Say  to  your  father  then,  that  you  will  wed. 

That,  with  the  will,  he  may  want  cause  to  chide. 
But  if,  deluded  by  fond  hopes,  you  cry, 

*‘No  one  will  wed  their  daughter  to  a rake, 

A libertine.” — Alas,  you’re  much  deceiv’d. 

For  know,  your  father  will  redeem  some  wretch 
From  rags  and  beggary  to  be  your  wife. 

Rather  than  see  your  ruin  with  Glycerium. 

But  if  he  thinks  you  bear  an  easy  mind. 

He  too  will  grow  indift’rent,  and  seek  out 
Another  match  at  leisure ; the  mean  while 
Affairs  may  take  a lucky  turn. 

Pam.  D’ye  think  so? 

Davus.  Beyond  all  doubt. 

Pam.  See,  what  you  lead  me  to. 

Davus.  Nay,  peace! 

Pam.  I’ll  say  so  then.  But  have  a care 
He  knows  not  of  the  child,  which  I’ve  agreed 
To  educate. 

Davus.  O confidence  I 
Pam.  She  drew 

This  promise  from  me,  as  a firm  assurance 
That  I would  not  forsake  her. 

Davus.  We’ll  take  care. 

But  here’s  your  father:  let  him  not  perceive 
You’re  melancholy. 


382 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


[Act  II.' 


Scene  V. 

Enter  SiMO  at  a distance. 

SiMO.  I return  to  see 

What  they’re  about,  or  what  they  meditate. 

Davus.  Now  is  he  sure  that  you’ll  refuse  to  wed. 

From  some  dark  corner  brooding  o’er  black  thoughts 
He  comes,  and  fancies  he  has  fram’d  a speech 
To  disconcert  you.  See,  you  keep  your  ground’, 

Pam.  If  I can,  Davus. 

Davus.  Trust  me,  Pamphilus, 

Your  father  will  not  change  a single  word 
In  anger  with  you,  do  but  say  you’ll  wed. 

Scene  YI. 

Enter  Bykrhia  behind. 

Byr.  To-day  my  master  bade  me  leave  all  else 
For  Pamphilus,  and  watch  how  he  proceeds. 

About  his  marriage  ; wherefore  I have  now 
Followed  the  old  man  hither : yonder  too 
Stands  Pamphilus  himself,  and  with  him  Davus. 

To  business  then! 

SiMo.  I see  them  both  together. 

Davus.  Now  mind.  {Aj)art  to  Pam.) 

SiMO,  Here,  Pamphilus! 

Davus.  Now  turn  about. 

As  taken  unawares.  {Apart.) 

Pam.  Who  calls?  my  father!  {Apart.) 

SiMO.  It  is  my  pleasure,  that  to-day. 

As  I have  told  you  once  before,  you  marry. 

Davus.  Now  on  our  part,  I fear  what  he’ll  reply.  {Aside.] 
Pam.  In  that,  and  all  the  rest  of  your  commands, 

I shall  be  ready  to  obey  you,  Sir ! 

Byr.  How’s  that!  {Overhearing.) 

Davus.  Struck  dumb.  {Aside.) 

Byr.  What  said  he?  {Listening.) 

SiMO.  You  perform 

Your  duty,  when  you  cheerfully  comply 
With  my  desires. 

Davus.  There!  said  I not  the  truth?  {Apart  to  Pam.) 
Byr.  My  master  then,  so  far  as  I can  find, 

May  whistle  for  a wife. 

SiMO.  Now  then  go  in 
That  when  you’re  wanted  you  be  found. 

Pam.  I go.  {Exit 

Byr.  Is  there  no  faith  in  the  atfairs  of  men? 

’Tis  an  old  saying  and  a true  one  too; 

Cf  all  mankind  each  loves  himself  the  best.” 


Sc.  VII.] 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


383 


I’ve  seen  the  lady ; know  her  beautiful ; 

And  therefore  sooner  pardon  Pamphilus, 

If  he  had  rather  win  her  to  his  arms, 

Than  yield  her  to  th’  embraces  of  my  master. 

I will  go  bear  these  tidings,  and  receive 

Much  evil  treatment  for  my  evil  news.  {ExiU 

Scene  YII. 

Manent  Simo  and  Davus. 

Davus.  Now  he  supposes  I’ve  some  trick  in  hand, 

And  loiter  here  to  practice  it  on  him! 

Simo.  Well,  what  now,  Davus  ? 

Davus.  Nothing. 

Simo.  Nothing,  say  you? 

Davus.  Nothing  at  all. 

Simo.  And  yet  I look’d  for  something, 

Davus.  So,  I perceive,  you  did: — ThU  nettles  him. 

{Asid^,) 

Simo.  Can  you  speak  truth? 

Davus.  Most  easily. 

Simo.  Say  then, 

Is  not  this  wedding  irksome  to  my  son, 

From  his  adventure  with  the  Andrian? 

Davus.  No  faith ; or  if  at  all,  ’twill  only  be 
Two  or  three  days’  anxiety,  you  know; 

Then  ’twill  be  over:  for  he  sees  the  thing 
In  its  true  light. 

Simo.  I praise  him  for’t. 

Davus.  While  you 

Restrain’d  him  not ; and  while  his  youth  allow’d 
’Tis  true  he  lov’d ; and  even  then  by  stealth, 

As  wise  men  ought,  and  careful  of  his  fame. 

Now  his  age  calls  for  matrimony,  now 
To  matrimony  he  inclines  his  mind. 

Simo.  Yet,  in  my  eyes,  he  seem’d  a little  sad. 

Davus.  Not  upon  that  account.  He  has  he  thinks 
Another  reason  to  complain  of  you. 

Simo.  For  what? 

Davus.  A trifle. 

Simo.  Well,  what  is’t? 

Davus.  Nay,  nothing. 

Simo.  Tell  me,  what  is’t? 

Davus.  You  are  then,  he  complains, 

Somewhat  too  sparing  of  expense. 

Simo.  I? 

Davus.  You. 

A feast  of  scarce  ten  Drachms?  Does  this,  says  he, 

Look  like  a wedding-supper  for  his  son? 

What  friends  can  I invite?  especially 


384 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


[Act  III.  • 


At  such  a time  as  this? — and,  truly,  Sir, 

You  have  been  very  frugal ; much  too  sparing. 

I can’t  commend  you  for  it. 

SiMO.  Hold  your  peace. 

Davus.  I’ve  ruffled  him.  {Aside.) 

SiMO.  I’ll  look  to  that.  Away  ! {Exit  Davus. 

What  now?  What  means  the  varlet?  Precious  rogue, 
For  if  there’s  any  knavery  on  foot. 

He,  I am  sure,  is  the  contriver  on’t.  {Exit. 


ACT  THE  THIRD. 

Scene  I. 

Si:.io,  Davus,  coming  out  of  Simo’s  house. — Mysis,  Lesbia, 
going  toward  the  house  of  Glycerium. 

Mysis.  Aye,  marry,  ’tis  as  you  say,  Lesbia: 

Women  scarce  ever  find  a constant  man. 

SiMO.  The  Andrian’s  maid-servant!  Is’t  not? 

Davus.  Aye. 

Mysis.  But  Pamphilus 

SiMO.  What  says  she?  {Overhearing.) 

Mysis.  Has  been  true. 

SiMO.  How’s  that?  {Overhearing.) 

Davus.  Would  he  were  deaf,  or  she  were  dumb!  {Aside.') 
Mysis.  For  the  child,  boy,  or  girl,  he  has  resolv’d 
To  educate. 

SiMO.  O J upiter ! wl^at’s  this 
I hear?  If  this  be  true.  I’m  lost  indeed. 

Lesbia.  A good  young  Gentleman! 

Mysis.  Oh,  very  good. 

But  in,  in,  lest  you  make  her  wait. 

Lesbia.  I follow.  {Exeunt  Mysis  and  Lesbia. 

Scene  II. 

Manent  Simo,  Davus. 

Davus.  Unfortunate!  What  remedy!  {Aside.) 

Simo.  How’s  this?  {To  himself.) 

And  can  he  be  so  mad?  What!  educate 
A harlot’s  child! — Ah,  now  I know  their  drift; 

Fool  that  I was,  scarce  smelt  it  out  at  last. 

Davus  {listening).  What’s  this  he  says  he  has  smelt  out? 
Simo.  Imprimis,  {To  himself.) 

’Tis  this  rogue’s  trick  upon  me.  All  a sham : 

A counterfeit  deliv’ry,  and  mock  labor, 

Devis’d  to  frighten  Chremes  from  the  match. 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


385 


Gly.  (within).  Juno  Lucina,  save  me ! Help,  I pray  thee. 
SiMO.  Heyday ! Already ! Oh  ridiculous  ! 

Soon  as  she  heard  that  I was  at  the  door 
She  hastens  to  cry  out:  your  incidents 
Are  ill-tim’d,  Davus. 

Davus.  Mine,  Sir? 

SiMO.  Are  your  players 

Unmindful  of  their  cues,  and  want  a prompter? 

Davus.  I do  not  comprehend  you. 

SiMO  {apart.)  If  this  knave 
Had,  in  the  real  nuptial  of  my  son, 

Come  thus  upon  me  unprepar’d,  what  sport. 

What  scorn  he’d  have  exposed  me  to  ? But  now 
At  his  own  peril  be  it.  I’m  secure. 

.Scene  III. 

Re-enter  Lesbia.— -Aechyllis  appeal's  at  the  door. 

Lesbia  to  Aechyllis  {within').  As  yet,  Archyllis,  all  the 
syniptoms  seem 

As  good  as  might  be  wish’d  in  her  condition : 

First,  let  her  make  ablution : after  that. 

Drink  what  I’ve  order’d  her,  and  just  so  miicli : 

And  presently  I will  be  here  again.  (Coming forward.) 

Now,  by  this  good  day,  Master  Pamphilus 
Has  got  a chopping  boy : Heav’n  grant  it  live ! 

For  he’s  a worthy  Gentleman,  and  scorn’d 

To  do  a wrong  to  this  young  innocent.  (Exit, 

Scene  IV. 

SiMo.  This  too  where’s  he  that  knows  you  would  not  swear 
Was  your  contrivance  ? 

Davus.  My  contrivance ! what.  Sir  ? 

SiMO.  While  in  the  house,  forsooth,  the  midwife  gave 
No  orders  for  the  Lady  in  the  straw : 

But  haying  issued  forth  into  the  street, 

Bawls  out  most  lustily  to  those  within. 

— Oh  Davus,  am  I then  so  much  your  scorn  ? 

Seem  I so  proper  to  -be  play’d  upon. 

With  such  a shallow,  barefac’d,  imposition? 

You  might  at  least,  in  reverence,  have  us’d 
Some  spice  of  art,  wer’t  only  to  pretend 
You  fear’d  my  anger,  should  I find  you  out. 

Davus.  I’  faith  now  he  deceives  himself,  not  I.  (Aside.) 
SiMO.  Did  not  I give  you  warning?  threaten  too. 

In  case  you  play’d  me  false?  But  all  in  vain: 

For  what  car’d  you  ? — What ! think  y’-ou  I believe 
This  story  of  a child  by  Pamphilus  ? 

Davus.  I see  his  error:  Now  I know  my  game.  (Aside.) 
Slho.  Why  don’t  you  answer  ? 

R 


386 


THE  ANDKIAN. 


[Act  III.  • 


Davus.  What!  you  don’t  believe  it! 

As  if  you  had  not  been  informed  of  this?  {Arddy.') 

Smo.  I been  inform’d  ? 

Davus.  What  then  you  found  it  out  ? \Ardily.) 

SiMO.  D’ye  laugh  at  me  ? 

Davus.  You  must  have  been  inform’d : 

Or  whence  this  shrewd  suspicion  ? 

SiMO.  Whence  ! from  you  : 

Because  I know  you. 

Davus.  Meaning,  this  was  done 
By  my  advice  ? 

SiMO.  Beyond  all  doubt ; I know  it : 

Davus.  You  do  not  know  me,  Simo. 

SiMo.  I not  know  you? 

Davus.  For  if  I do  but  speak,  immediately 
You  think  yourself  impos’d  on.—: — 

Simo.  Falsely,  hey  ? 

Davus.  So  that  I dare  not  ope  my  lips  before  you. 

Simo.  All  that  I know  is  this ; that  nobody 
lias  been  deliver’d  here. 

Davus.  You’ve  found  it  out  ? 

Yet  by-and-by  they’ll  bring  the  bantling  here, 

And  lay  it  at  our  door.  Remember,  Sir, 

I give  you  warning  that  will  be  the  case ; 

'That  you  may  stand  prepar’d,  nor  after  say, 

’Twas  done  by  Davus’s  advice,  his  tricks! 

I would  fain  cure  your  ill  opinion  of  me. 

Simo.  But  how  d’ye  know? 

Davus.  I’ve  heard  so,  and  believe  so. 

Besides  a thousand  things  concur  to  lead 
To  this  conjecture.  In  flie  first  place,  she 
Profess’d  herself  with  child  by  Pamphilus ; 

That  proves  a falsehood.  Now  that  she  perceives 
A nuptial  preparation  at  our  house, 

A maid’s  dispatch’d  immediately  to  bring 
A midwife  to  her,  and  withal  a child  ; 

You  too  they  will  contrive  shall  see  the  child, 

Or  else  the  wedding  must  proceed. 

Simo.  How’s  this  ? 

Having  discover’d  such  a plot  on  -foot, 

Why  did  you  not  directly  tell  my  son? 

Davus.  Who  then  has  drawn  him  from  her  but  myself? 
For  we  all  know  how  much  he  doted  on  her: 

But  now  he  wishes  for  a wife.  In  fine, 

Leave  that  affair  to  me  ; and  you  meanwhile 
Pursue,  as  you’ve  begun,  the  nuptials  ; which 
The  Gods,  I hope,  will  prosper! 

Simo.  Get  you  in. 

Wait  for  me  there,  and  see  that  you  prepare 

What’s  requisite.  {Exit  Davus. 

He  has  not  vTouglit  upon  me 


Sc.  V.] 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


387 


To  yield  implicit  credit  to  his  tale, 

Nor  do  I know  if  all  he  said  be  true. 

But,  true  or  false,  it  matters  not:  to  me 
My  Son’s  own  promise  is  the  main  concern. 

Now  to  meet  Chremes,  and  to  beg  his  daughter 
In  marriage  with  my  son.  If  I succeed. 

What  can  I rather  wish,  than  to  behold 
Their  marriage-rites  to-day  ? For  since  my  son 
Has  given  me  his  word.  I’ve  not  a doubt, 

Should  he  refuse,  but  I may  force  him  to  it : 

And  to  my  wishes  see  where  Chremes  comes. 

Scene  V. 

Enter  Chremes. 

SiMO.  Chremes,  good-day ! 

Chremes.  The  very  man  I look’d  for. 

SiMO.  And  I for  you. 

Chremes.  Well  met. — Some  persons  came 
To  tell  me  you  inform’d  them,  that  my  daughter 
Was  to  be  married  to  your  son  to-day: 

And  therefore  came  I here,  and  fain  would  know 
Whether  ’tis  you  or  they  have  lost  their  wits. 

SiMO.  A moment’s  hearing;  3^011  shall  be  inform’d, 
What  I request,  and  what  you  wish  to  know. 
Chremes.  I hear:  what  would  3"ou?  speak. 

SiMO.  Now  by  the  Gods ; 

Now  b}^  our  friendship,  Chremes,  which  begun 
In  infancy,  has  still  increas’d  with  age ; 

Now  by  your  only  daughter,  and  my  son. 

Whose  preservation  wholly  rests  on  you  ; 

Let  me  entreat  this  boon : and  let  the  match 
Which  should  have  been,  still  be. 

Chremes.  Wh}^  why  entreat? 

Knowing  you  ought  not  to  beseech  this  of  me. 

Think  you  that  I am  other  than  I was. 

When  first  I gave  my  promise?  If  the  match 
Be  good  for  both,  e’en  call  them  forth  to  wed. 

But  if  their  union  promises  more  harm 
Than  good  to  both,  3^011  also,  I beseech  you. 

Consult  our  common  interest,  as  if 
You  were  her  father,  Pamphilus  my  son. 

SiMO.  E’en  in  that  spirit,  I desire  it,  Chremes, 
Entreat  it  may  be  done ; nor  would  entreat, 

But  that  occasion  urges. 

Chremes.  What  occasion  ? 

SiMo.  A diff’rence  ’twixt  Glycerium  and  my  son. 
Chremes.  I hear,  {Ironically.) 

SiMO.  A breach  so  wide  as  gives  me  hopes 
To  sep’rnte  them  forever. 


388 


THE  AIs^DlHAN. 


[Act  in.  ■ 


Chremes.  Idle  tales! 

SiMO.  Indeed  ’tis  thus. 

Chremes.  Aye  marry,  thus  it  is. 

Quarrels  of  lovers  but  renew  their  love. 

SiMo.  Prevent  we  then,  I pray,  this  mischief  now; 
While  time  permits,  while  yet  his  passion’s  sore 
From  contumelies ; ere  these  women’s  wiles. 

Their  wicked  arts,  and  tears  made  up  of  fraud 
Shake  his  weak  mind,  and  melt  it  to  compassion. 

Give  him  a wife : by  intercourse  with  her. 

Knit  by  the  bonds  of  wedlock,  soon  I hope. 

He’ll  rise  above  the  guilt  that  sinks  him  now. 

CiiREMES.  So  you  believe:  for  me,  I can  not  think 
That  he’ll  be  constant,  or  that  I can  bear  it. 

SiMo.  How  can  you  know,  unless  you  make  the  trial? 
Chremes.  Aye,  but  to  make  that  trial  on  a daughter 
Is  hard  indeed. 

SiMO.  The  mischief,  should  he  fail, 

Is  only  this : divorce,  which  Heav’n  forbid ! 

But  mark  what  benefits  if  he  amend ! 

First,  to  your  friend  you  will  restore  a son ; 

Gain  to  yourself  a son-in-law,  and  match 
Your  daughter  to  an  honest  husband. 

Chremes.  Well! 

Since  you’re  so  thoroughly  convinc’d  ’tis  right, 

I can  deny  you  naught  that  lies  in  me. 

SiMo.  I see  I ever  lov’d  you  justly,  Chremes. 
Chremes.  But  then- 

SiMo.  But  what?  , 

Chremes.  Whence  is’t  you  know 
That  there’s  a difference  between  them? 

SiMO.  Davus, 

Davus,  in  all  their  secrets,  told  me  so ; 

Advis’d  me  too,  to  hasten  on  the  match 
As  fast  as  possible.  Would  he,  d’ye  think. 

Do  that,  unless  he  were  full  well  assur’d 
My  son  desir’d  it  too? — Hear,  what  he  says. 

Ho  there!  call  Davus  forth. — But  here  he  comes. 

Scene  VI. 

Enter  Davus. 

Davus.  I was  about  to  seek  you. 

SiMo.  What’s  the  matter? 

Davus.  Why  is  not  the  bride  sent  for?  it  grows  late. 
SiMO.  D’ye  hear  him  ? — Davus,  I for  some  time  past 
Was  fearful  of  you ; lest,  like  other  slaves. 

As  slaves  go  now,  you  should  put  tricks  upon  me, 

And  baffle  me,  to  favor  my  sou’s  love. 

Davus.  I,  Sir  ? 


Sc.  VII.] 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


389 


SiMo.  I thought  so : and  in  fear  of  that 
Conceal’d  a secret  which  I’ll  now  disclose. 

Davus.  What  secret,  Sir? 

SiMo.  I’ll  tell  you : for  I now 
Almost  begin  to  think  you  may  be  trusted. 

Davus.  You’ve  found  what  sort  of  man  I am  at  last. 
SiMO.  No  marriage  was  intended. 

Davus.  How  I none  ! 

SiMO.  None. 

All  counterfeit,  to  sound  my  son  and  you. 

Davus.  How  say  you? 

SiMo.  Even  so. 

Davus.  Alack,  alack! 

I never  could  have  thought  it.  Ah,  what  art!  ('Archly.') 

SiMo.  Hear  me.  No  sooner  had  I sent  you  in, 

But  opportunely  I encounter’d  Chremes. 

Davus.  How!  arc  we  ruin’d  then?  {Aside.) 

SiMo.  I told  him  all, 

That  you  had  just  told  me, 

Davus.  Confusion  ! how  ? {Aside.) 

SiMO.  Begged  him  to  grant  his  daughter,  and  length 
With  much  ado  prevail’d. 

Davus.  Undone!  {Aside.) 

SiMO.  How’s  that?  {Overhearing.) 

Davus.  Well  done ! I said. 

SiMo.  My  good  friend  Chremes  then 
Is  now  no  obstacle. 

Chremes.  I’ll  home  a while. 

Order  due  preparations,  and  return.  {Exit, 

SiMO.  Prithee,  now,  Davus,  seeing  you  alone 

Have  brought  about  this  match 

Davus.  Yes,  I alone. 

SiMO.  Endeavor  farther  to  amend  my  son. 

Davus.  Most  diligently. 

SiMO.  It  were  easy  now. 

While  his  mind’s  irritated. 

Davus.  Be  at  peace. 

SiMO.  Do  then  : where  is  he  ? 

Davus.  Probably  at  home. 

SiMO.  I’ll  in,  and  tell  him,  what  I’ve  now  told  yov 


Scene  VII. 

Davus  alone. 

Lost  and  undone ! To  prison  with  me  straight ! 
No  prayer,  no  plea : for  I have  ruin’d  all ! 
Deceiv’d  the  old  man,  hamper’d  Pamphilus 
With  marriage  ; marriage,  brought  about  to-day 
By  my  sole  means ; beyond  the  hopes  of  one ; 
Against  the  other’s  will. Oh,  cunning  fool! 


390 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


[Act  hi.,  Sc.  VIII.  ' 


Had  I been  quiet,  all  had  yet  been  well. 

But  see,  he’s  coming.  Would  my  neck  were  broken! 

(Retires.') 

Scene  VIIL 

Enter  Pamphilus  ; Davus  behind. 

Pam.  Where  is  this  villain  that  has  ruined  me? 
Davus.  I’m  a lost  man. 

Pam.  And  yet  I must  confess. 

That  I deserv’d  this,  being  such  a dolt, 

A very  idiot,  to  commit  my  fortunes 
To  a vile  slave.  I suffer  for  my  folly, 

But  will  at  least  take  vengeance  on  him. 

Davus.  If  I can  but  escape  this  mischief  nov7, 

I’ll  answer  for  hereafter. 

Pam.  To  my  father 

What  shall  I say? — And  can  I then  refuse, 

Who  have  but  now  consented?  with  what  face? 

I know  not  what  to  do. 

Davus.  I’  faith,  nor  I; 

And  yet  it  takes  up  all  Iny  thoughts.  I’ll  teU  him 
I’ve  hit  on  something  to  delay  the  match. 

Pam.  Oh ! (Seeing  Davus.) 

Davus.  I am  seen. 

Pam.  So,  good  Sir!  What  say  you? 

See,  how  I’m  hamper’d  with  your  fine  advice. 

Davus  (coming  forward).  But  I’ll  deliver  you. 

Pam.  Deliver  me? 

Davus.  Certainly,  Sir. 

Pam.  What,  as  you  did  just  now? 

Davus.  Better,  I hope. 

Pam.  And  can  you  then  believe 
That  I would  trust  you,  rascal?  You  amend 
My  broken  fortunes,  or  redeem  them  lost? 

You,  who  to-day,  from  the  most  happy  state, 

Have  thrown  me  upon  marriage. — Did  not  I 
Foretell  it  would  be  thus? 

Davus.  You  did  indeed. 

Pam.  And  what  do  you  deserve  for  this? 

Davus.  The  gallows. 

— Yet  suffer  me  to  take  a little  breath. 

I’ll  devise  something  presently. 

Pam.  Alas, 

I have  not  leisure  for  your  punishment. 

The  time  demands  attention  to  myself, 

Nor  will  be  wasted  in  revenge  on  you.- 


Act  TV.,  Sc.  II.] 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


391 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 

Scene  I. 

Charinus  alone. 

Is  this  to  be  believ’d,  or  to  be  told? 

Can  then  such  inbred  malice  live  in  man, 

To  joy  in  ill,  and  from  another’s  woes 
To  draw  his  own  delight? — Ah,  is’t  then  so? 

— Yes,  such  there  are,  the  meanest  of  mankind. 
Who,  from  a sneaking  bashfulness,  at  first 
Dare  not  refuse ; but  when  the  time  comes  on 
To  make  their  promise  good,  then  force  per  force 
Open  themselves  and  fear:  yet  must  deny. 

Then  too,  oh  shameless  impudence,  they  cry, 
“Who  then  are  you?  and  what  are  you  to  me? 
Why  should  I render  up  my  love  to  you? 

Faith,  neighbor,  charity  begins  at  home.” 

— Speak  of  their  broken  faith,  they  blush  not,  they, 
Now  throwing  off  that  shame  they  ought  to  wear, 
Which  they  before  assum’d  without  a cause. 

— What  shall  I do?  go  to  him?  on  my  wrongs 
Expostulate,  and  throw  reproaches  on  him? 

What  will  that  profit,  say  you  ? very  much. 

I shall  at  least  imbitter  his  delight, 

And  gratify  my  anger. 


Scene  II. 

To  him  Pamphilus  and  Davus. 

Pam.  Oh,  Charinus, 

By  my  imprudence,  unless  Heav’n  forefend,  . 

I’ve  ruin’d  both  myself  and  you. 

Char.  Imprudence ! 

Paltry  evasion ! you  have  broke  your  faith. 

Pam.  What  now? 

Char.  And  do  you  think  that  words  like  these 
Can  baffle  me  again? 

Pam.  What  means  all  this? 

Char.  Soon  as  I told  you  of  my  passion  for  her, 

Then  she  had  charms  for  }:pn. Ah,  senseless  fool, 

To  judge  your  disposition  by  my  own ! 

Pam.  You  are  mistaken. 

Char.  Was  your  joy  no  joy. 

Without  abusing  a fond  lover’s  mind. 

Fool’d  on  with  idle  hopes? — Well,  take  her. 

Pam.  Take  her  ? 

Alas,  you  know  not  what  a wretch  I am : 

How  many  cares  this  slave  has  brought  upon  me, 

My  rascnl  here. 


392 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


[Act  IV" 


Char.  No  wonder  if  he  takes 
Example  from  liis  master. 

Pam.  Ah,  you  know  not 

Me,  or  my  love,  or  else  you  would  not  talk  thus. 

Char.  Oh  yes,  I know  it  all.  You  had  but  now 
A dreadful  altercation  with  your  father: 

And  therefore  he’s  enrag’d,  nor  could  prevail 
On  you,  forsootli,  to  wed.  {Ironically.) 

Pam.  To  show  you  then, 

How  little  you  conceive  of  my  distress, 

These  nuptials  were  mere  semblance,  mock’ry  all, 
Nor  was  a Avife  intended  me. 

Char.  I know  it : 

You  are  constrain’d,  poor  man,  by  inclination. 

Pam.  Nay,  but  have  patience ! you  don’t  know — 
Char.  I know 
That  you’re  to  marry  her. 

Pam.  Why  rack  me  thus  ? 

Nay  hear!  he  never  ceas’d  to  importune 
That  I would  tell  my  father,  I would  Aved; 

So  press’d,  and  urg’d,  that  he  at  length  prevail’d. 
Char.  Who  did  this? 

Pam.  Davus. 

Char.  Davus ! 

Pam.  Davus  all. 

Char.  Where. ^re? 

Pam.  I know  not : but  I know  the  Gods 
Meant  in  their  anger  I should  listen  to  him. 

Char.  Is  it  so,  Davus? 

Davus.  Even  so. 

Char.  Hoav,  villain? 

The  Gods  confound  you  for  it ! — Tell  me,  wretch^ 
Had  all  his  most  inveterate  foes  desir’d 
To  throw  him  on  this  marriage,  what  ad\uce 
Could  they  have  given  else  ? 

Davus.  I am  deceiv’d, 

But  not  dishearten’d. 

Char.  True.  {Ironically.') 

Davus.  This  Avay  has  fail’d; 

We’ll  try  another  Avay : unless  you  think 
Because  the  business  has  gone  ill  at  first, 

We  can  not  graft  advantage  on  misfortune. 

Pam.  Oh  aye,  I warrant  you,  if  you  look  to  ’t, 
Out  of  one  AA'edding  you  can  work  me  tAvo. 

Davus.  Pamphilus,  ’tis  my  duty,  as  your  slave, 
To  strive  Avith  might  and  main,  by  day  and  nighty 
With  hazard  of  my  life,  to  do  you  service : 

’Tis  yours,  if  I am  cross’d,  to  pardon  me. 

My  undertakings  fail  indeed,  but  then 
I spare  no  pains.  Do  better,  if  you  can, 

And  send  me  packing. 


Sc.  IILJ 


THE  ANDlilAN. 


393 


Pam.  Aye,  with  all  niy  heart: 

Place  me  but  where  you  found  me  first. 

Davus.  I will. 

Pam.  But  do  it  instantly. 

Davus.  Hist ! hold  a while : 

J hear  the  creaking  of  Glycerium’s  door, 

Pam.  Nothing  to  you. 

Davus.  Pm  thinking. 

Pam.  What,  at  last? 

Davus.  Your  business  shall  be  done,  and  presently. 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Mvsis. 

Mysis  to  Glycerium  (within).  Be  where  he  will,  I’ll  find 
your  Pamphilus, 

And  bring  him  with  me.  Meanwhile,  you,  my  soul, 

Forbear  to  vex  yourself. 

Pam.  Mysis! 

Mysis.  Who’s  there? 

Oh  Pamphilus,  well  met.  Sir! 

Pam.  What’s  the  matter? 

Mysis.  My  mistress,  by  the  love  you  bear  her,  begs 
Your  presence  instantly.  She  longs  to  see  you. 

Pam.  Ah,  I’m  undone:  This  sore  breaks  out  afresh. 
Unhappy  that  we  are,  through  your  curs’d  means. 

To  be  tormented  thus.  (Ib  Davus.) — She  has  been  told 
A nuptial  is  prepar’d  and  therefore  sends. 

Char.  From  which  how  safe  you  were,  had  he  been  quiet! 

(Pointing  to  Daa^us.) 

Davus.  Aye,  if  he  raves  not  of  himself  enough. 

Do,  irritate  him.  (To  Gharinus.) 

Mysis.  Truly  that’s  the  cause; 

And  therefore  ’tis,  poor  soul,  she  sorrows  thus. 

Pam.  Mysis,  I swear  to  thee  by  all  the  Gods, 

I never  will  desert  her  : though  assur’d 
That  I for  her  make  all  mankind  my  foes. 

I sought  her,  carried  her : our  hearts  are  one, 

And  farewell  they  that  wish  us  put  asunder! 

Death,  naught  but  death  shall  part  us. 

Mysis.  I revive. 

Pam.  Apollo’s  oracles  are  not  more  true. 

If  that  my  father  may  be  WTOught  upon. 

To  think  I hinder’d  not  the  match,  ’tis  well : 

But  if  that  can  not  be,  come  what  come  may. 

Why  let  him  know,  ’twas  I — What  think  you  now? 

(To  Charinus.) 

Char.  That  we  are  wretches  both. 

Davus.  My  brain  ’s  at  work. 

Char.  O brave! 


112 


394 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


[Act  IV.  ■ 


Pam.  I know  what  you’d  attempt. 

Davus.  Well,  well! 

I will  effect  it  for  you. 

Pam.  Aye,  but  now. 

Davus.  E’en  now. 

Char.  What  is’t? 

Davus.  For  him.  Sir,  not  for  you. 

Be  not  mistaken. 

Char.  I am  satisfied. 

Pam.  Say,  what  do  you  propose? 

Davus.  This  day,  I fear, 

Is  scarce  sufficient  for  the  execution, 

So  think  not  I have  leisure  to  relate. 

Hence  then ! you  hinder  me : hence,  hence  I say. 

Pam.  I’ll  to  Glycerium.  {Exit. 

Davus.  Well,  and  what  mean  you? 

Whither  will  you.  Sir? 

Char.  Shall  I speak  the  truth? 

Davus.  Oh  to  be  sure:  now  for  a tedious  tale! 

Char.  What  will  become  of  me? 

Davus.  How!  not  content! 

Is  it  not  then  sufficient,  if  I give  you 
The  respite  of  a day,  a little  day, 

By  putting  off  his  wedding? 

Char.  Aye,  but  Davus, 

Davus.  But  what? 

Char.  That  I may  wxd 

Davus.  Ridiculous ! 

Char.  If  you  succeed,  come  to  me. 

Davus.  Wherefore  come? 

I can’t  assist  you. 

Char.  Should  it  so  fall  out 

Davus.  Well,  well.  I’ll  come. 

Char.  If  aught,  I am  at  home.  {Exit. 

Scene  IV. 

Manent  Davus,  Mysis. 

Davus.  Mysis,  wait  here  till  I come  forth. 

Mysis.  For  what? 

Davus.  It  must  be  so. 

Mysis.  Make  haste  then. 

Davus.  In  a moment.  {Exit  to  Glycerium’s. 

Scene  V. 

Mysis  alone. 

Can  we  securely  then  count  nothing  ours? 

Oh  all  ye  Gods!  I thought  this  Pamphilus 
The  greatest  good  my  mistress  could  obtain, 


VII.J 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


395 


Friend,  lover,  husband,  ev’ry  way  a blessing: 

And  yet  what  woe,  poor  wretch,  endures  she  not 
On  his  account?  Alas,  more  ill  than  good. 

But  here  comes  Davus. 

Scene  VI. 

Re-enter  Davus  with  the  child. 

Mtsis.  Prithee,  man,  what  now? 

Where  are  you  carrying  the  child? 

Davus.  Oh,  M3"sis, 

Now  have  I need  of  all  your  ready  wit. 

And  all  your  cunning. 

Mtsis.  What  are  you  about? 

Davus.  Quick,  take  the  boy,*aTid"lay  him  at  our  door. 
Mtsis.  What,  on  the  bare  ground? 

Davus.  From  the  altar  then 
Take  herbs  and  strew  them  underneath. 

Mtsis.  And  why 
Can’t  you  do  that  yourself? 

Davus.  Because,  that  if 
My  master  chance  to  put  me  to  my  oath 
That  ’twas  not  I who  laid  it  there,  I may 
With  a safe  conscience  swear.  ( Gives  her  the  child.') 
Mtsis.  I understand. 

But  pray  how  came  this  sudden  qualm  upon  you? 

Davus.  Nay,  but  be  quick,  that  you  may  comprehend 
What  I propose. — (Mtsis  lays  the  child  at  Simo’s  door.) 

Oh  Jupiter!  {Looking  out.) 

Mtsis.  What  now? 

Davus.  Here  comes  the  father  of  the  bride ! — I change 
My  first-intended  purpose. 

Mtsis.  What  you  mean 
1 can’t  imagine. 

Davus.  This  way  from  the  right. 

I’ll  counterfeit  to  come: — And  be’t  your  care 
To  throw  in  aptly  now  and  then  a word. 

To  help  out  the  discourse  as  need  requires. 

Mtsis.  Still  what  you’re  at,  I can  not  comprehend. 

But  if  I can  assist,  as  you  know  best. 

Not  to  obstruct  your  purposes.  I’ll  stay.  (Davus  retires.) 

Scene  VII. 

Enter  Chremes  going  toward  Simo’s. 

Chremes.  Having  provided  all  things  necessar}', 

I now  return  to  bid  them  call  the  bride. 

What’s  here?  (seeing  the  child)  by  Hercules,  a child!  Ha, 
vvoman, 

Was’t  you  that  laid  it  here? 


9G 


THE  ANDiUAxX. 


[Act  IV, 


Mysis.  Where  is  he  p^one  ? {Looking  after  Davus.) 
Chremes.  What,  won’t  you  answer  me? 

Mysis.  {Looking  about.)  Not  Iiere : Ah  me ! 

The  fellow’s  gone,  and  left  me  in  the  lurch. 

(Davus  coming  forward  and  pretending  not  to  see  them.) 

Davus.  Good  Heavens,  what  confusion  at  the  Forum ! 

The  people  all  disputing  with  each  other! 

The  market-price  is  so  confounded  high.  {Loud.) 

AVhat  to  say  else  I know  not.  {Aside.) 

Mysis  {to  Davus).  What  d’ye  mean,  (Chremes  retires  and 
By  leaving  me  alone?  listens  to  their  conversation.) 

Davus.  What  farce  is  this? 

Ha,  Mysis,  whence  this  child?  Who  brought  it  here? 

Mysis.  Have  you  your  wits,  to  ask  me  such  a question  ? 
Davus.  Whom  should  I ask,  when  no  one  else  is  here? 
Chremes  {behind).  I wonder  whence  it  comes.  (2o  himself.) 
Davus.  Wilt  answer  me  I {Loud.) 

Mysis.  Ah!  {Confused.) 

Davus.  This  way  to  the  right!  {Apart  to  Mysis.) 

Mysis.  You  Te  raving  mad. 

AYas ’t  not  yourself! 

Davus,  I charge  you  not  a word, 

But  what  I ask  you.  {Apart  to  Mysis.) 

Mysis.  Do  you  threaten  me  ? 

Davus.  Whence  comes  this  child  ? {Loud.) 

'Mysis.  From  our  house. 

Davus.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  • 

No  wonder  that  a harlot  has  assurance. 

Chremes.  This  is  the  Andrian’s  servant-maid,  I take  it, 
Davus.  Do  we  then  seem  to  you  such  proper  folks 
To  play  these  tricks  upon?  {Loud  to  Mysis.) 

Chremes.  I came  in  time.  {To  himself.) 

Davus.  Make  haste,  and  take  your  bantling  from  our  door. 
{T^oud.) 

Hold ! do  not  stir  from  where  you  are,  besure.  {Softhj.) 
Mysis.  A plague  upon  you  : you  so  terrify  me ! 

Davus.  Wench,  did  I speak  to  you  or  no?  {T^oud.) 

Mysis.  What  would  you  ? 

Davus.  What  would  I ? Say,  whose  child  have  you  laid  here  ? 
Tell  me.  (Loud.) 

Mysis.  You  don’t  know? 

Davus.  Plague  of  what  I know : 

Tell  what  I ask.  {Softly.) 

Mysis.  Yours. 

Davus.  Ours?  Whose?  {Loud.) 

Mysis.  Pamphilus’s. 

Davus.  How  say  you?  Pamphilus’s?  {Loud.) 

Mysis.  Why  is ’t  not? 

Chremes.  I had  good  cause  to  be  against  this  match.  (7b 
himself) 


JS(\  VJIL] 


THE  ANDUIAN. 


397 


Davus.  O monstrous  impudence!  {Baiullng.') 

Mysis.  Why  all  this  noise  ? 

Davus.  Did  not  I see  this  child  convey’d  by  stealth 
Into  your  house  last  night? 

Mysis.  Oh  rogue ! 

Davus.  ’Tis  true. 

I saw  old  Canthara  stuff’d  out  ? 

Mysis.  Thank  Heav’n, 

Some  free-women  were  present  at  her  labor  ? 

Davus.  Troth,  she  don’t  know  the  gentleman,  for  whom 
She  plays  this  game.  She  thinks,  should  Chremes  see 
The  child  laid  here,  he  would  not  grant  his  daughter. 

Faith,  he  would  grant  her  the  more  willingly. 

Chremes.  Not  he  indeed.  (2b  himself.) 

Davus.  But  now,  one  word  for  all. 

Take  up  the  child ; or  I shall  trundle  him 
Into  the  middle  of  the  street,  and  roll 
You,  madam,  in  the  mire. 

Mysis.  The  fellow’s  drunk. 

Davus.  One  piece  of  knavery  begets  another: 

Now,  I am  told,  ’tis  whisper’d  all  about. 

That  she’s  a citizen  of  Athens {Loud.') 

Chremes.  How  ! 

Davus.  And  that  by  law  he  will  be  forc’d  to  wed  her. 
Mysis.  Why  prithee  is  she  not  a citizen  ? 

Chremes.  What  a fine  scrape  was  I within  a hair 
Of  being  drawn  into!  {To  himself .) 

Davus.  What  voice  is  that?  {Turning  about.) 

Oh  Chremes ! you  are  come  in  time.  Attend ! 

Chremes.  I have  heard  all  already. 

Davus.  You’ve  heard  all  ? 

Chremes.  Yes  all,  I say,  from  first  to  last. 

Davus.  Indeed  ? 

Good  lack,  what  knaveries ! this  lying  jade 

Should  be  dragg’d  hence  to  torture.— This  is  he!  (7b  Mysis.) 

Think  not  ’twas  Davus  you  impos’d  upon. 

Mysis.  Ah  me  ! — Good  Sir,  I spoke  the  truth  indeed. 
Chremes.  I know  the  whole. — Is  Simo  in  the  house? 
Davus.  Yes,  Sir.  {Exit  Chremes. 

Scene  VIII. 

Manent  Davus,  Mysis.  Davus  runs  to  her, 

Mysis.  Don’t  offer  to  touch  me,  you  villain! 

If  I don’t  tell  my  mistress  every  word 

Davus.  Why  you  don’t  know,  you  fool,  what  good  we’ve  done. 
Mysis.  How  should  I ? 

Davus.  This  is  father  to  the  bride : 

Nor  could  it  otherwise  have  been  contriv’d 
That  he  shouhl  know  what  we  would  have  him. 


398 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


[Act  IV.,  Sc.  I 


Mysis.  Well, 

You  should  have  given  me  notice. 

Davus.  Is  there  then 

No  dift’rence,  think  you,  whether  all  you  say 
Falls  natural  from  the  heart,  or  comes 
From  dull  premeditation  ? 


Scene  IX. 

Enter  Crito. 

Crito.  In  this  street 

They  say  that  Chrysis  liv’d:  who  rather  chose 
To  heap  up  riches  here  by  wanton  ways, 

Than  to  live  poor  and  honestly  at  home  : 

She  dead,  her  fortune  comes  by  law  to  me. 

But  I see  persons  to  inquire  of.  {Goes  up.)  Save  you! 

Mysis.  Good  now,  who’s  that  I see?  is  it  not  Crito, 
Chrysis’s  kinsman?  Aye,  the  very  same. 

Crito.  O Mysis,  save  you! 

Mysis.  Save  you,  Crito ! 

Crito.  Chrysis  _ 

Is  then ha? 

Mysis.  Aye,  she  has  left  us,  poor  souls! 

Crito.  And  ye  ; how  go  ye  on  here  ? — pretty  well  ? 
Mysis.  We? — as  we  can,  as  the  old  saying  goes. 

When  as  w’e  would  we  can  not. 

Crito.  And  Glycerium, 

Has  she  found  out  her  parents? 

Mysis.  Would  she  had ! 

Crito.  Not  yet!  an  ill  wind  blew  me  hither  then. 

For  truly,  had  I been  appris’d  of  that, 

I’d  ne’er  have  set  foot  here : for  this  Glycerium 
Was  always  call’d  and  thought  to  be  her  sister. 

What  Chrysis  left,  she  takes  possession  of : 

And  now  for  me,  a stranger,  to  commence 
A lawsuit  here,  how  good  and  wise  it  were, 

Other  examples  teach  me.  She,  I warrant, 

Has  got  her  some  gallant  too,  some  defender : 

For  she  was  growing  up  a jolly  girl 

When  first  she  journeyed  hither.  They  will  cry 

That  I’m  a pettifogger,  fortune-hunter, 

A beggar. — And  besides  it  were  not  well 
To  leave  her  in  distress. 

Mysis.  Good  soul ! troth  Crito, 

You  have  the  good  old-fashion’d  honesty. 

Crito.  Well,  since  I am  arriv’d  here,  bring  me  to  her. 
That  I may  see  her. 

Mysis.  Aye,  with  all  my  heart. 

Davus.  I will  in  with  them : for  I would  not  choose 
That  our  old  gentleman  should  see  me  now.  {Exeunt. 


Act  V.,  Sc.  II.] 


THE  ANDIIIAN. 


399 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 

Scene  I. 

Chremes,  Simo. 

Chremes.  Enough  already,  Simo,  and  enough 
I’ve  shown  my  friendship  for  you;  hazarded 
Enough  of  peril:  urge  me  then  no  more! 

Wishing  to  please  you,  I had  near  destroy’d 
My  daughter’s  peace  and  happiness  forever. 

Simo.  Ah,  Chremes,  I must  now  entreat  the  more, 

More  urge  you  to  confirm  the  promis’d  boon. 

Chremes.  Mark,  how  unjust  you  are  through  willfulness! 
So  you  obtain  what  you  demand,  you  set 
No  bounds  to  my  compliance,  nor  consider 
What  you  request;  for  if  you  did  consider. 

You’d  cease  to  load  me  with  these  injuries. 

Simo.  What  injuries? 

Chremes.  Is  that  a question  now? 

Have  you  not  driven  me  to  plight  my  child 
To  one  possess’d  with  other  love,  averse 
To  marriage;  to  expose  her  to  divorce. 

And  crazy  nuptials ; by  her  woe  and  bane 
To  work  a cure  for  your  distemper’d  son? 

You  had  prevail’d;  I travel’d  in  the  match, 

While  circumstances  would  admit ; but  now 
The  case  is  chang’d,  content  you : — It  is  said 
That  she’s  a citizen ; a child  is  born : 

Prithee  excuse  us! 

Simo.  Now,  for  Heav’n’s  sake. 

Believe  not  them,  whose  interest  it  is 
To  make  him  vile  and  abject  as  themselves. 

These  stories  are  ail  feign’d,  concerted  all. 

To  break  the  match : when  the  occasion’s  past 
That  urges  them  to  this,  they  will  desist. 

Chremes.  Oh,  you  mistake : e’en  now  I saw  the  maid 
Wrangling  with  Davus. 

Simo.  Artifice!  mere  trick. 

Chremes.  Aye,  but  in  earnest;  and  when  neither  knew 
That  I was  there. 

Simo.  It  may  be  so:  and  Davus 
Told  me  beforehand  they’d  attempt  all  this  ; 

Though  I,  I know  not  how,  forgot  to  tell  you. 

Scene  II. 

Enter  Davus  from  Glycerium’s. 

Davus  {to  himself).  He  may  be  easy  now\  I warrant  him — 


400 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


[Act  Y. 


Chremes.  See  yonder’s  Davus. 

SiMo.  Ha ! whence  comes  the  rogue  ? 

Davus.  By  my  assistance,  and  this  stranger’s  safe. 

(7o  himself.') 

SiMO.  What  mischief’s  this?  (^Listening.) 

Davus.  A more  commodious  man, 

Arriving  just  in  season,  at  a tiin^e 
So  critical,  I never  knew.  ( To  himself.) 

SiMO.  A knave ! 

Who’s  that  he  praises  ? {Listening.) 

Davus.  All  is  now  secure.  (To  himself) 

SiMO.  Why  don’t  I speak  to  him  ? 

Davus.  My  master  here!  (Turning  about.) 

What  shall  I do?  (To  himself.) 

SiMO.  Good  Sir,  your  humble  Servant ! (Sneering.) 

Davus.  Oh,  Simo ! and  our  Chremes  ! — All  is  nu\v 
Prepar’d  within. 

Simo.  You’ve  taken  special  care.  (IronicAillg .) 

Davus.  E’en  call  them  when  you  please. 

Simo.  Oh,  mighty  fine! 

That  to  be  sure  is  all  that’s  Avanting  now. 

— Blit  tell  me,  Sir ! what  business  had  you  there  ? (Pointing 
to  Glycerium’s.) 

Davus.  I?  (Confused.) 

Simo.  You  ? 

Davus.  I ? (Stammering.) 

Simo.  You,  Sir. 

Davus.  I went  in  but  now.  (Disordered.) 

Simo.  As  if  I ask’d,  how  long  it  was  ago. 

Davus.  With  Pamphilus. 

Simo.  Is  Pamphilus  within  ? 

— ^Oh  torture. — Did  not  you  assure  me,  Sirrah, 

They  were  at  variance  ? 

Davus.  So  they  are. 

Simo.  Yfhy  then 
Is  Pamphilus  within  ? 

Chremes.  Oh,  why  d’ye  think? 

He’s  gone  to  quarrel  with  her.  (Sneering.) 

Davus.  Nay,  but  Chremes, 

There’s  more  in  this,  and  you  shall  hear  strange  news. 
There’s  an  old  countryman,  I know  not  who, 

Is  just  arriv’d  here ; confident  and  shrewd ; 

His  look  bespeaks  him  of  some  consequence. 

A grave  severity  is  in  his  face. 

And  credit  in  his  words. 

Simo.  What  story  now  ? 

Davus.  Nay,  nothing.  Sir,  but  what  I heard  him  say. 

Simo.  And  what  says  he,  then  ? 

Davus.  That  he’s  well  assur’d 
Glycerium’s  an  Athenian  citizen. 

Simo.  Ho,  Dronio!  Dromo! 


Sc.  V.] 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


401 


Davus,  What  now? 

SiMo.  Dromo! 

Davus.  Hear  me. 

SiMO.  Speak  but  a word  more — Dromo ! 
Davus.  Pray,  Sir,  hear! 


Scene  III. 

Enter  Dromo. 

Dromo.  Your  pleasure,  Sir? 

SiMo.  Here,  drag  him  headlong  in. 

And  truss  the  rascal  up  immediately. 

Dromo.  Whom? 

SiMo.  Davus. 

Davus.  Why! 

SiMO.  Because  I’ll  have  it  so. 

Take  him,  I say. 

Davus.  For  what  offense? 

SiMO.  Off  with  him! 

Davus.  If  it  appear  that  I’ve  said  aught  but  truth, 

Put  me  to  death. 

SiMO.  I will  not  hear.  I’ll  trounce  you. 

Davus.  But  though  it  should  prove  true,  Sir ! 

SiMO.  True  or  false. 

See  that  you  keep  him  bound ; and  do  you  hear  ? 

Bind  the  slave  hand  and  foot.  Away! 

(^Exeunt  Dromo  and  Davus. 

\ 

Scene  IV. 

Manent  Simo,  Chremes. 

— By  Heav’n, 

As  I do  live,  I'll  make  you  know  this  day 
What  peril  lies  in  trifling  with  a master. 

And  make  him  know  what  ’tis  to  plague  a father. 
Chremes.  Ah,  be  not  in  such  rage. 

Simo.  Oh  Chremes,  Chremes, 

Filial  unkindness  ! — Don’t  you  pity  me  I 

To  feel  all  this  for  such  a thankless  son! 

Here,  Pamphilus,  come  forth ! ho,  Pamphilus ! 

Have  you  no  shame?  [Calling  at  Glycerium’s  door.') 

Scene  V. 

Enter  Pamphilus. 

Pam.  Who  calls? — Undone!  my  father! 

Simo.  What  say  you  ? Most 

Chremes.  Ah,  rather  speak  at  once 
Your  purpose,  Simo,  arid  forbear  reproach. 


402 


THE  ANDEIAN. 


[ActV.  ■ 


SiMo.  As  if  ’twere  possible  to  utter  aught 
Severer  than  he  merits! — Tell  me  then;  {To  Pam.) 
Glycerium  is  a citizen? 

Pam.  They  say  so. 

SiMO.  They  say  so! — Oh  amazing  impudence! 

Does  he  consider  what  he  says?  does  he 
Repent  the  deed?  or  does  his  color  take 
The  hue  of  shame? — To  be  so  weak  of  soul, 
Against  the  custom  of  our  citizens, 

Against  the  law,  against  his  father’s  will, 

To  wed  himself  to  shame  and  this  vile  woman. 

Pam.  Wretch  that  I am! 

SiMo.  Ah,  Pamphilus  ! d’ye  feel 
Your  wretchedness  at  last?  Then,  then,  when  first 
You  wrought  upon  your  mind  at  any  rate 
To  gratify  your  passion : from  that  hour 
Well  might  you  feel  your  state  of  wretchedness. 

— But  v/hy  give  in  to  this?  Why  torture  thus. 

Why  vex  my  spirit?  Why  afflict  my  age 
For  his  distemp’rature  ? Why  rue  his  sins  ? 

— No ; let  him  have  her,  joy  in  her,  live  with  her. 

Pam.  My  father ! 

SiMO.  How,  my  father! — can  I think 
You  want  this  father?  You  that  for  yourself 
A home,  a wife,  and  children  have  acquir’d 
Against  your  father’s  will?  And  witnesses 
Suborn’d,  to  prove  thht  she’s  a citizen  ? 

— You’ve  gain’d  your  point. 

Pam.  My  father,  but  one  word! 

SiMO.  What  would  you  say? 

Chremes.  Nay,  hear  him,  Simo. 

SiMO.  Hear  him  ? 

What  must  I hear  then,  Chremes! 

Chremes.  Let  him  speak. 

Simo.  Well,  let  him  speak : I hear  him. 

Pam.  I confess, 

I love  Glycerium : if  it  be  a fault. 

That  too  I do  confess*.  To  you,  my  father, 

I yield  myself:  dispose  me  as  you  please ! 
Command  me  ! Say  that  I shall  take  a wife ; 

Leave  her;  I will  endure  it,  as  I may 

This  only  I beseech  you,  think  not  I 
Suborn’d  this  old  man  hither. — Suffer  me 
To  clear  myself,  and  bring  him  here  before  you. 
Simo.  Bring  him  here ! 

Pam.  Let  me,  father! 

Chremes.  ’Tis  but  just : 

Permit  him! 

Pam.  Grant  me  this! 

Simo.  Well,  be  it  so. 


{Exit  Pamphilus. 


Sc.  VL] 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


403 


I could  bear  all  this  bravely,  Cliremes  ; more, 
Much  more,  to  know  that  he  deceiv’d  me  not. 

Chremes.  For  a great  fault  a little  punishment 
Suffices  to  a father. 


Scene  VI. 

Re-enier  Pamphilus  with  Crito. 

Crito.  Say  no  more! 

Any  of  these  inducements  would  prevail : 

Or  your  entreaty,  or  that  it  is  truth. 

Or  that  I wish  it  for  Glycerium’s  sake. 

Chremes.  Whom  do  I see  ? Crito,  the  Andrian  ? 

Nay  certainly  ’tis  Crito. 

Crito.  Save  you,  Chremes! 

Chremes.  What  has  brought  you  to  Athens  ? 

Crito.  Accident. 

But  is  this  Simo? 

Chremes.  Aye. 

Simo.  Asks  he  for  me  ? 

So,  Sir,  you  say  that  this  Glyceriura 
Is  an  Athenian  citizen  ? 

Crito.  Do  you 
Deny  it? 

Simo.  What  then  are  you  come  prepar’d? 

Crito.  Prepar’d!  for  what? 

Simo.  And  dare  you  ask  for  what  ? 

Shall  you  go  on  thus  with  impunity? 

Lay  snares  for  inexperienc’d,  lib’ral  youth, 

With  fraud,  temptation,  and  fair  promises 

Soothing  their  minds? 

Crito.  Ha>^e  you  your  wits? 

Simo.  — And  then 

With  marriage  solder  up  their  harlot  loves? 

Pam.  Alas,  I fear  the  stranger  will  not  bear  this.  {Aside.) 
Chremes.  Knew  you  this  person,  Simo,  you’d  not  think 
thus : 

He’s  a good  man. 

Simo.  A good  man  he  ? — To  come. 

Although  at  Athens  never  seen  till  now, 

So  opportunely  on  the  wedding-day! — 

Is  such  a fellow  to  be  trusted,  Chremes? 

Pam.  But  that  I fear  my  father,  I could  make 
That  matter  clear  to  him.  {Aside.) 

Simo.  A Sharper! 

Crito.  How? 

Chremes.  It  is  his  humor,  Crito:  do  not  heed  him. 

Crito.  Let  him  look  to ’t.  If  he  persists  in  saying 
Whate’er  he  pleases,  I shall  make  him  hear 
Something  that  may  displease  liim. — Do  I ^tir 


404 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


[Act  V. 


In  these  affairs,  or  make  them  my  concern? 

Bear  your  misfortunes  patiently!  For  me, 

If  I speak  true  or  false,  shall  now  be  known. 

— “A  man  of  Athens  once  upon  a time 
Was  shipwreck’d  on  the  coast  of  Andros ; with  him 
This  very  woman,  then  an  infant.  He 
In  this  distress  applied,  it  so  fell  out, . 

For  help  to  Chrysis’  father ” 

SiMo.  All  romance. 

Chremes.  Let  him  alone. 

Crito.  And  will  Jie  interrupt  me? 

Chremes.  Go  om 

Crito.  “ Now  Chrysis’  father,  who  receiv’d  him, 

Was  my  relation.  There  I’ve  often  heard 
The  man  himself  declare,  he  was  of  Athens. 

There  too  he  died.” 

Chremes.  His  name? 

Crito.  His  name  so  quickly! — Phania. 

Chremes.  Amazement ! 

Crito.  By  my  troth,  I think  ’twas  Phania; 

But  this  Pm  sure,  he  said  he  was  of  Rhamnus. 

Chremes.  Oh  Jupiter! 

Crito.  These  circumstances,  Chremes, 

Were  known  to  many  others,  then  in  Andros. 

Chremes.  Heav’n  grant  it  may  be  as  I wish! — Inform  me, 
Whose  daughter,  said  he,  was  the  child?  his  own? 

Crito.  No,  not  his  own. 

Chremes.  Whose  then? 

Crito.  His  brother’s  daughter. 

Chremes.  Mine,  mine  undoubtedly ! 

Crito.  What  say  you? 

SiMO.  How! 

Pam.  Hark,  Painphilus! 

SiMO.  But  why  believe  you  this? 

Chremes.  That  Phania  was  my  brother. 

SiMO.  True.  I knew  him. 

Chremes.  lie,  to  avoid  the  war,  departed  hence : 

And  fearing  ’twere  unsafe  to  leave  the  child. 

Embark’d  with  her  in  quest  of  me  for  Asia: 

Since  when  I’ve  heard  no  news  of  him  till  now. 

Pam.  I’m  scarce  myself,  my  mind  is  so  enrapt 
With  fear,  hope,  joy,  and  wonder  of  so  great. 

So  sudden  happiness. 

SiMO.  Indeed,  my  Chremes, 

I heartily  rejoice  she’s  found  your  daughter. 

Pam.  I do  believe  you,  father. 

Chremes.  But  one  doubt 
There  still  remains,  which  gives  me  pain. 

Pam.  Away 

With  all  your  doubts!  you  puzzle  a plain  cause. 

Crito.  What  is  that  doubt  ? 


Sc.  VI.] 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


405 


CiiREMES.  The  name  does  not  agree. 

Crito.  She  had  another,  when  a child. 

CiiREMES.  What,  Crito  ? 

Can  you  remember  ? 

Crito.  I am  hunting  for  it. 

Pam.  Shall  then  his  memory  oppose  my  bliss, 

When  I can  minister  the  cure  myself? 

No,  I will  not  permit  it — Hark  you,  Chremes, 

The  name  is  Pasibula. 

Crito.  True. 

CiiREMES.  The  same. 

Pam.  I’ve  heard  it  from  herself  a thousand  times. 

SiMO.  Chremes,  I trust  you  will  believe,  w^e  all 
Rejoice  at  this. 

Chremes.  ’Fore  Heaven  I believe  so. 

Pam.  And  now,  my  father 

SiMO.  Peace,  son ! the  event 
Has  reconcil’d  me. 

Pam.  O thou  best  of  fathers ! 

Does  Chremes  yoo  confirm  Glycerium  mine  ? 

Chremes.  And  with  good  cause  if  Simo  hinder  not. 
Pam.  Sir!  {To  Simo.) 

Simo.  Be  it  so. 

Chremes.  IMy  daughter’s  portion  is 
Ten  talents,  Pamphilus. 

Pam.  I am  content. 

Chremes.  I’ll  to  her  instantly:  and  prithee,  Crito, 
Along  with  me  I for  sure  she  know's  me  not. 

{Exeunt  Chre3ies  and  Crito. 
Simo.  Why  do  you  not  give  orders  instantly 
To  bring  her  to  our  house? 

Pam.  Th’  advice  is  good. 

I’ll  give  that  charge  to  Davus. 

Simo.  It  can’t  be. 

Pam.  Why? 

Simo.  He  has  other  business  of  his  own, 

Of  hearer  import  to  himself. 

Pam.  What  business? 

Simo.  He’s  bound.* 

Pam.  Bound!  how^.  Sir! 

Simo.  How’,  Sir? neck  and  heels. 

Pam.  Ah,  let  him  be  enlarg’d. 

Simo.  It  shall  be  done. 

Pam.  But  instantly. 

Simo.  I’ll  in,  and  order  it. 

Pam.  Oh  what  a happy,  happy  day  is  this! 


(Exit. 


406 


THE  ANDKIAN. 


[Act  V. 


ScEN^E  VIL 

Enter  CuA  iiNUS  behind. 

Char.  I come  to  see  wJint  Pamphilus  is  doing: 

And  there  he  is ! 

Pam.  And  is  this  true  ?- -.ves,  yes, 

I know  ’tis  true,  because  I wish  it  so. 

Therefore  I think  the  life  of  Gods  eternal, 

For  that  their  joys  are  permanent : and  now, 

My  soul  hath  her  content  so  absolute. 

That  I too  am  immortal,  if  no  ill 
Step  in  betwixt  me  and  this  happiness. 

Oh,  for  a bosom-friend  now  to  pour  out 
My  ecstasies  before  him ! 

Char.  What’s  this  rapture?  {Listening.) 

Pam.  Oh,  yonder’s  Davus : nobody  more  welcome : 
For  he,  I know,  will  join  in  transport  with  me. 

Scp:ne  VIII. 

Enter  Davus. 

Davus  {entering).  Where’s  Pamphilus  ? 

Pam.  Oh  Davus! 

Davus.  Who’s  there  ? 

Pam.  I. 

Davus.  Oh  Pamphilus! 

Pam.  You  know  not  my  good  fortune. 

Davus.  Do  you  know  my  ill  fortune? 

Pam.  To  a tittle. 

Davus.  ’Tis  after  the  old  fashion,  that  my  ills 
Should  reach  your  ears,  before  your  joys  reach  mine. 
Pam.  Glyceriurn  has  discover’d  her  relations. 

Davus.  O excellent! 

Char.  How’s  that  ? {Listening.) 

Pam.  Her  father  is 
Our  most  near  friend. 

Davus.  Who? 

Pam.  Chremes. 

Davus.  Charming  news ! 

Pam.  And  Pm  to  marry  her  immediately. 

Char.  Is  this  man  talking  in  his  sleep,  and  dreams 
Dn  what  he  wishes  waking?  {Listening.) 

Pam.  And  moreover, 

Por  the  child,  Davus 

Davus.  Ah,  Sir,  say  no  more. 

You’re  th’  only  favorite  of  the  Gods. 

Char.  I’m  made, 

tf  this  be  true.  I’ll  speak  to  them.  (Comes  forward.) 


Sc.  VIIL] 


THE  ANDRIAN. 


407 


Pam.  Vvho’s  there? 

CharinasI  oh,  well  met. 

Char.  I give  you  joy. 

Pam.  You’ve  heard  then 

Char.  Ev’ry  word:  and  prithee  now, 

In  your  good  fortune,  think  upon  your  friend. 

Chremes  is  now  your  own ; and  will  perform 
Whatever  you  shall  ask. 

Pam.  I shall  remember. 

’Twere  tedious  to  expect  his  coming  forth  ; 

Along  with  me  then  to  Glycerium! 

Davus,  do  you  go  home,  and  hasten  them 
To  fetch  her  hence.  Away,  away! 

Davus.  I go.  (^Exeunt  Pamphilus  and  Charixus. 

(Davus  addressing  the  audience.') 

Wait  not  till  they  come  forth:  within 
She’ll  be  betroth’d;  within,  if  aught  remains 
Undone,  ’twill  be  concluded — Clap  your  hands! 


THE  EUNUCH 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


PROLOGITE. 

Laches. 

Phjedria. 

Ch.®:rea. 

Antipho. 

Chremes. 

Thraso. 

Gnatho. 

Parmeno. 


Dorus. 

Sang A. 
SiMALIO,  ETC. 


SOPHRONA. 

Pamphila. 


Thais. 


Pythias. 

Dorias. 


Scene,  Athens. 


PROLOGUE. 


To  please  the  candid,  give  offense  to  none, 

This,  says  the  Poet,  ever  was  his  care : 

Yet  if  there’s  one  who  thinks  he’s  hardly  censur’d. 
Let  him  remember  he  was  the  aggressor : 

He,  who  translating  many,  but  not  well, 

On  good  Greek  fables  fram’d  poor  Latin  plays ; 

He,  who  but  lately  to  the  public  gave 
The  Phantom  of  Menander ; He,  who  made. 

In  the  Thesaurus,  the  Defendant  plead 
And  vouch  the  question’d  treasure  to  be  his. 

Before  the  Plaintiff  his  own  title  shows, 

Or  whence  it  came  into  his  father’s  tomb. 

Henceforward,  let  him  not  deceive  himself, 

Or  cry,  “I’m  safe,  he  can  say  naught  of  me.” 

I charge  him  that  he  err  not,  and  forbear 
To  urge  me  farther ; for  I’ve  more,  much  more. 
Which  now  shall  be  o’erlook’d,  but  shall  be  known, 
If  he  pursue  his  slanders,  as  before. 

Soon  as  this  play,  the  Eunuch  of  Menander, 
Which  we  are  now  preparing  to  perform, 

Was  purchas’d  by  the  ^diles,  he  obtain’d 
Leave  to  examine  it : and  afterward 
When  ’twas  rehears’d  before  the  ]'.fngistrate9, 


THE  EUNUCH. 


409 


Act  j , Sc.  1.] 

“A  Thief,”  he  cried,  “no  Poet  gives  this  piece. 
Yet  has  he  not  deceived  ns : for  we  know, 

The  Colax  is  an  ancient  comedy 

Of  Nsevius,  and  of  Plautus  ; and  from  thence 

The  Parasite  and  Soldier  both  are  stolen.” 

If  that’s  the  Poet’s  crime,  it  is  a crime 
Of  ignorance,  and  not  a studied  theft. 

Judge  for  yourselves ! the  fact  is  even  thus. 

The  Colax  is  a fable  of  Menander’s ; 

Wherein  is  drawn  the  character  of  Colax 
The  parasite,  and  the  vain-glorious  soldier ; 

Which  characters,  he  scruples  not  to  own, 

He  to  his  Eunuch  from  the  Greek  transferr’d  : 
But  that  he  knew  those  pieces  were  before 
Made  Latin,  that  he  steadfastly  denies. 

Yet  if  to  other  Poets  ’tis  not  lawful 
To  draw  the  characters  our  fathers  drew, 

How  can  it  then  be  lawful  to  exhibit 
Slaves  running  to  and  fro ; to  represent 
Good  matrons,  wanton  harlots ; or  to  show 
An  eating  parasite,  vain-glorious  soldier, 
Supposititious  children,  bubbled  dotards, 

Or  love,  or  hate,  or  jealousy  ? — In  short, 

Nothing’s  said  now  but  has  been  said  before. 
AVeigh  then  these  things  with  candor,  and  forgive 
The  Moderns,  if  what  Ancients  did,  they  do. 

Attend,  and  list  in  silence  to  our  play. 

That  ye  may  know  what  ’tis  the  Eunuch  means. 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Ph^dria  and  Parmeno. 

pHiED.  And  what  then  shall  I do?  not  go?  not  now? 
When  she  herself  invites  me  ? or  were ’t  best 
Fashion  my  mind  no  longer  to  endure 
These  harlots’  impudence  ? — Shut  out ! recall’d  I 
Shall  I return?  No,  not  if  she  implore  me. 

Par.  Oh  brave!  oh  excellent!  if  you  maintain  it! 

But  if  yon  try,  and  can’t  go  through  with  spirit, 

And  finding  you  can’t  bear  it,  uninvited. 

Your  peace  unmade,  all  of  your  own  accord, 

You  come  and  swear  you  love,  and  can’t  endure  it, 

S 


410 


THE  EUNUCH. 


[Act  I.  ■ 


Good-iii^ht  I all’s  over ! ruin'd  and  undone : 

She’ll  jilt  you,  when  she  sees  you  in  her  pow’r. 

PuiED.  You  then,  in  time  consider  and  advise ! 

Par.  Master ! the  thinp;  which  hath  not  in  itself 
Or  measure  or  advice,  advice  can’t  rule. 

In  love  are  all  these  ills  : suspicions,  quarrels, 

Wrongs,  reconcilements,  war,  and  peace  again  : 

Things  thus  uncertain,  if  by  reason’s  rules 
You’d  certain  make,  it  were  as  wise  a task 
To  try  with  reason  to  run  mad.  And  now 
What  you  in  anger  meditate — I her? 

That  him? — that  me?  that  would  not pardon  me! 

I would  die  rather : No ! she  shall  perceive 

How  much  I am  a man. Big  words  like  these, 

She  in  good  faith  with  one  false  tiny  drop. 

Which,  after  grievous  rubbing,  from  her  eyes 
Can  scarce  perforce  be  squeez’d,  shall  overcome. 

Nay,  she  shall  swear,  ’twas  you  in  fault,  not  she ; 

You  too  shall  own  th’  offense,  and  pray  for  pardon. 

Ph^d.  Oh  monstrous ! monstrous ! now  indeed  I see 
How  false  she  is,  and  what  a wretch  I am! 

Spite  of  myself  I love ; and  knowing,  feeling, 

With  open  eyes  run  on  to  my  destruction ; 

And  what  to  do  I know  not. 

Par.  What  to  do? 

What  should  you  do,  Sir,  but  redeem  yourself 

As  cheaply  as  you  can  ? at  easy  rates 

If  possible if  not at  any  rate 

And  never  vex  yourself. 

Phjed.  Is  that  your  counsel? 

Par.  Aye,  if  you’re  wise ; and  do  not  add  to  love 
More  troubles  than  it  has,  and  those  it  has 
Bear  bravely  I But  she  comes,  our  ruin  comes ; 

Por  she,  like  storms  of  hail  on  fields  of  corn, 

Beats  down  our  hopes,  and  carries  all  before  her. 


Scene  II. 

Enter  Thais. 

Thais.  Ah  me ! I fear  lest  Phaedria  take  offense 
And  think  I meant  it  other  than  I did, 

That  he  was  not  admitted  yesterday.  (7b  herself^  not  seeing 
them.') 

Ph^d.  I tremble,  Parmeno,  and  freeze  with  horror. 

Par.  Be  of  good  cheer!  approach  yon  fire — she’ll  warm  you. 
Thais.  Who’s  there  ? my  Phaedria  ? AVhy  did  you  stand  here  ? 
Why  not  directly  enter? 

Par.  Not  one  word 
Of  having  shut  him  out! 

Thais.  Why  don’t  you  speak? 


Sc.  II.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


411 


Ph^d.  Because,  forsooth,  these  doors  will  always  fly 
Open  to  me,  or  that  because  I stand 
The  first  in  your  good  graces.  {Ironicallij.) 

Thais.  Nay,  no  more ! 

Ph.ed.  No  more? — O Thais,  Thais,  would  to  Heaven 
Our  loves  were  parallel,  that  things  like  these 
Might  torture  you,  as  this  has  tortur’d  me: 

Or  that  your  actions  were  indifferent  to  me ! 

Thais.  Grieve  not,  I beg,  my  love,  my  Phaidria! 

Not  that  I lov’d  another  more,  I did  this. 

But  I by  circumstance  w'as  forc’d  to  do  it. 

Par.  So  then,  it  seems,  for  very  love,  poor  soul. 

You  shut  the  door  in ’s  teeth. 

Thais.  Ah  Parmeno! 

Is ’t  thus  you  deal  with  me?  Go  to! — But  hear 
Why  I did  call  you  hither? 

PHiED.  Be  it  so. 

Thais.  But  tell  me  first,  can  yon  slave  hold  his  peace? 
Paai.  I?  oh  most  faithfully:  But  hark  ye,  madam! 

On  this  condition  do  I bind  my  faith: 

The  truths  I hear,  I will  conceal;  whate’er 
Is  false,  or  vain,  or  feign’d,  I’ll  publish  it. 

I’m  full  of  chinks,  and  run  through  here  and  there: 

So  if  you  claim  my  secrecy,  speak  truth. 

Thais.  My  mother  was  a Samian,  liv’d  at  Rhodes. 

Par.  This  sleeps  in  silence.  {Archly,) 

Thais.  There  a certain  merchant 
Made  her  a present  of  a little  girl, 

Stol’n  hence  from  Attica. 

Pii.ED.  A citizen  ? 

Thais.  I think  so,  but  -we  can  not  tell  for  certain. 

Her  father’s  and  her  mother’s  name  she  told 
Herself;  her  country  and  the  other  marks 
Of  her  original,  she  neither  knew. 

Nor,  from  her  age,  was ’t  possible  she  should. 

The  merchant  added  further,  that  the  pirates, 

Of  whom  he  bought  her,  let  him  understand. 

She  had  been  stol’n  from  Sunium.  My  mother 
Gave  her  an  education,  brought  her  up 
In  all  respects  as  she  had  been  her  own ; 

And  she  in  gen’ral  was  suppos’d  my  sister. 

I journeyed  hither  with  the  gentleman 
To  whom  alone  I was  connected  then. 

The  same  who  left  me  all  I have. 

Par.  Both  these 

Are  false,  and  shall  go  forth  at  large. 

Thais.  Why  so? 

Par.  Because  nor  3^ou  wdth  one  could  be  content, 

Nor  he  alone  enrich’d  you ; for  my  master 
Made  good  and  large  addition. 


412 


THE  EUKUCH. 


[Act  I. 


Thais.  I allow  it, 

But  let  me  hasten  to  the  point  I wish: 

Meantime  the  captain,  who  was  then  but  young 
In  his  attachment  to  me,  went  to  Caria. 

I,  in  his  absence,  was  address’d  by  you ; 

Since  when,  full  well  you  know,  how  very  dear 
I’ve  held  you,  and  have  trusted  you  with  all 
My  nearest  counsels. 

PHiED.  And  yet  Parmeno 
Will  not  be  silent  even  here. 

Par.  Oh,  Sir, 

Is  that  a doubt? 

Thais.  Nay,  prithee  now,  attend! 

My  mother’s  lately  dead  at  Rhodes:  her  brother. 

Too  much  intent  on  wealth,  no  sooner  saw 
This  virgin,  handsome,  well-accomplish’d,  skill’d 
In  music,  than,  spurr’d  on  by  hopes  of  gain. 

In  public  market  he  expos’d  and  sold  her. 

It  so  fell  out,  my  soldier-spark  was  there. 

And  bought  her,  all  unknowing  these  events, 

To  give  to  me:  but  soon  as  he  return’d. 

And  found  how  much  I was  attach’d  to  you. 

He  feign’d  excuses  to  keep  back  the  girl; 
Pretending,  were  he  thoroughly  convinc’d 
That  I would  still  prefer  him  to  yourself, 

Nor  fear’d  that  when  I had  receiv’d  the  girl, 

I would  abandon  him,  he’d  give  her  to  me ; 

But  that  he  doubted.  Por  my  part,  I think 
He  is  grown  fond  of  her  himself. 

Ph^d.  Is  there 
Aught  more  between  them? 

Thais.  No  ; for  I’ve  inquir’d, 

And  now,  my  Phsedria,  there  are  sundry  causes 
Wherefore  I wish  to  win  the  virgin  from  him. 

First,  for  she’s  call’d  my  sister;  and  moreover, 

That  I to  her  relations  may  restore  her. 

I’m  a lone  woman,  have  nor  friend,  nor  kin: 
Wherefore,  my  Phsedria,  I would  raise  up  friends 
By  some  good  turn : — And  you,  I prithee  now, 

Help  me  to  do  it.  Let  him  some  few  days 
Be  my  gallant  in  chief.  What!  no  reply? 

Ph^ed.  Abandon’d  woman ! Can  I aught  reply 
To  deeds  like  these? 

Par.  Oh  excellent!  well  said! 

He  feels  at  length;  Now,  master,  you’re  a man, 
Pii^D.  I saw  your  story’s  drift. — A little  girl 
Stol’n  hence — My  mother  brought  her  up — was  call’d 
My  sister — I would  fain  obtain  her  from  him, 

That  I to  her  relations  might  restore  her — 

All  this  preamble  comes  at  last  to  this. 


Sc.  IL] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


413 


I am  excluded,  he’s  admitted.  Why? 

But  that  you  love  him  more  than  me,  and  fear 
Lest  this  young  captive  win  your  hero  from  you. 

Thais.  "Do  I fear  that? 

PiHED.  Why,  prithee  now,  what  else? 

Does  he  bring  gifts  alone?  didst  e’er  perceive 
My  bounty  shut  against  you  ? Did  I not. 

Because  you  told  me  you’d  be  glad  to  have 
An  Ethiopian  servant-maid,  all  else 
Omitted,  seek  one  out?  You  said  besides, 

You  wish’d  to  have  an  Eunuch,  ’cause  forsooth. 

They  were  for  dames  of  quality ; I found  one : 

For  both  I yesterday  paid  twenty  minc^, 

Yet  you  contemn  me — I forgot  not  these, 

And  for  these  I’m  despis’d. 

Thais.  Why  this,  my  Pluedria? 

Though  I would  fain  obtain  the  girl,  and  though 
I think  by  these  means  it  might  well  be  done; 

Y^et,  rather  than  make  you  my  enemy, 

I’ll  do  as  you  command. 

PiiiED.  Oh,  had  you  said 
Those  words  sincerely.  “Rather  than  make  you 
My  enemy  I” — Oh,-  could  I think  those  words 
Came  from  your  heart,  Avhat  is ’t  I’d  not  endure ! 

Par.  Gone ! conquer’d  with  one  word ! alas,  how  soon ! 
Thais.  Not  speak  sincerely  ? from  my  very  soul  ? 

What  did  you  ever  ask,  although  in  sport, 

But  you  obtain’d  it  of  me  ? yet  I can’t 
Prevail  on  you  to  grant  but  two  short  da3^s. 

PiiaiiD.  Well — for  two  days — so  those  two  be  not  twenty. 
Thais.  No  in  good  faith  but  two,  or — 

PHiED.  Or?  no  more. 

Thais.  It  shall  not  be:  but  you  will  grant  me  those. 
Ph/ed.  Your  will  must  be  a law. 

Thais.  Thanks,  my  sweet  Phiedria! 

Ph^d.  I’ll  to  the  country  : there  consume  myself 
For  these  two  days  : it  must  be  so : we  must 
Give  way  to  Thais.  See  3"ou,  Parmeno, 

The  slaves  brought  hither. 

Par.  Sir,  I will. 

Pii^D.  My  Thais, 

For  these  two  days  farewell ! 

Thais.  Farewell,  my  Phsedria! 

Would  you  aught  else  with  me  ? 

Pii.ED.  Aught  else,  my  Thais  ? 

Be  with  yon  soldier  present,  as  if  absent : 

All  night  and  day  love  me : still  long  for  me : 

Dream,  ponder  still  of  me ; wish,  hope  for  me : 

Delight  in  me ; be  all  in  all  with  me  ; 

Give  your  whole  heart,  for  mine’s  all  yours,  to  me.  {Exeunt. 


414 


THE  EUNUCH. 


[Act  IL 


Scene  III. 

Manet  Thais. 

Ah  me ! I fear  that  he  believes  me  not, 

And  judges  of  my  heart  from  those  of  others. 

I in  my  conscience  know,  that  nothing  false 
I have  deliver’d,  nor  to  my  true  heart 
Is  any  dearer  than  this  Phssdria  : 

And  whatsoe’er  in  this  affair  I’ve  done. 

For  the  girl’s  sake  I’ve  done : for  I’m  in  hopes 
I know  her  brother,  a right  noble  youth. 
To-day  I wait  him,  by  his  own  appointment ; 
Wherefore  I’ll  in,  and  tarry  for  his  coming. 


ACT  THE  SECOND. 

Scene  I. 

PlI.EDRIA,  PaRMENO. 

PHiEDRiA.  Carry  the  slaves  according  to  my  order. 

Par.  I will.  . 

PHiED.  But  diligently. 

Par.  Sir,  I will. 

Ph^d.  But  soon. 

Par.  I will,  Sir! 

PriiED.  Say,  is  it  sufficient  ? 

Par.  Ah ! what  a question ’s  that  ? as  if  it  were 
So  difficult ! I wish.  Sir  Phiedria, 

You  could  gain  aught  so  easy,  as  lose  these. 

Ph^d.  I lose,  what’s  dearer  yet,  my  comfort  with  them. 
Repine  not  at  my  gifts. 

Par.  Not  I : moreover 

I will  convey  them  straight.  But  have  yon  any 
Other  commands  ? 

PiRED.  Oh  yes : set  off  our  presents 
With  words  as  handsome  as  you  can ; and  drive. 

As  much  as  j)ossible,  that  rival  from  her ! 

Par.  Ah,  Sir,  I should,  of  course,  remember  that. 
Pn^p.  I’ll  to  the  country,  and  stay  there. 

Par.  O,  aye!  (Ironically.') 

Ph/ed.  But  hark  you ! 

Par.  Sir,  your  pleasure  ? 

Pii^D.  Do  you  think 
I can  with  constancy  hold  out,  and  not 
Return  before  my  time? 

Par.  Hold  out  ? Not  you. 


IL] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


415 


Either  you’ll  straight  return,  or  soon  at  niglit 
Your  dreams  will  drive  you  out  o’  doors. 

PuiED.  I’ll  toil ; 

That,  weary,  I may  sleep)  against  my  will. 

Par.  Weary  you  may  be ; but  you’ll  never  sleep. 

PHiED.  Ah,  Parmeno,  you  wrong  me.  I’ll  cast  out 
This  treacherous  softness  from  my  soul,  nor  thus 
Indulge  my  passions.  Yes,  I could  remain. 

If  need,  without  her  even  three  whole  days. 

Par.  Hiii ! three  whole  livelong  days ! consider,  Sir. 
PHiED.  I am  resolved. 

Parmeno  alone. 

Heav’ns,  what  a strange  disease  is  this ! that  love 
Should  so  change  men,  that  one  can  hardly  swear 

They  are  the  same ! No  mortal  liv’d 

Less  weak,  more  gi’ave,  more  temperate  than  he. 

— But  who  comes  yonder  ? — Gnatho,  as  I live  ; 

The  Captain’s  parasite ! and  brings  along 
The  Virgin  for  a present : oh  rare  wench ! 

How  beautiful ! I shall  come  off,  I doubt, 

But  scurvily  with  my  decrepit  Eunuch. 

This  Girl  surpasses  ev’n  Thais  herself. 

Scene  II. 

Enter  Gnatho  leading  Pamphila  ; Parmeno  behind. 

Gnat.  Good  Heav’ns ! how  much  one  man  excels  another ! 
What  diff’rence  ’twixt  a wise  man  and  a fool! 

What  just  now  happen’d  proves  it : coming  hither 
I met  with  an  old  countryman,  a man 
Of  my  own  place  and  order,  like  myself. 

No  scurvy  fellow,  who,  like  me,  had  spent 
In  mirth  and  jollity  his  whole  estate. 

He  was  in  a most  wretched  trim ; his  looks 
Lean,  sick,  and  dirty;  and  his  clothes  all  rags. 

How  now!  cried  I,  what  means  this  figure,  friend? 

Alas ! says  he,  my  patrimony’s  gone. 

—Ah,  how  am  I reduc’d ! my  old  acquaintance 
And  friends  all  shun  me. — Hearing  this,  how  cheap 
I held  him  in  comparison  with  me ! 

Why,  how  now  ? wretch,  said  I,  most  idle  wretch ! 

Have  you  spent  all,  nor  left  ev’n  hope  behind  ? 

What ! have  you  lost  your  sense  with  your  estate  ? 

Me ! — look  on  me — come  from  the  same  condition ! 

How  sleek ! how  neat ! how  clad ! in  what  good  case  I 
I’ve  ev’ry  thing,  though  nothing ; naught  possess. 

Yet  naught  I ever  want. — Ah,  Sir,  but  I 
Have  an  unhappy  temper,  and  can’t  bear 
To  be  the  butt  of  others,  or  to  take 


41G 


THE  EUNUCH. 


[Act  li. 


A beating  now  and  then. — How  then!  d’ye  think 
Those  are  the  means  of  thriving?  No,  my  friend  ? 

Such  formerly  indeed  might  drive  a trade : 

But  mine ’s  a new  profession ; I the  first 
That  ever  struck  into  this  road.  There  arc 
A kind  of  men,  who  wish  to  be  the  head 
Of  ev’ry  thing ; but  are  not.  These  I follow  ; 

Not  for  their  sport  and  laughter,  but  for  gain 
To  laugh  with  them,  and  wonder  at  their  parts : 

Whate’er  they  say,  I praise  it;  if  again 
They  contradict,  I praise  that  too : docs  any 
Deny  ? I too  deny : affirm  ? I too 
Affirm : and  in  a word,  I’ve  brought  myself 
To  say,  unsay,  swear,  and  forswear,  at  pleasure ; 

And  that  is  now  the  best  of  all  professions. 

Par.  a special  fellow  this ! who  drives  fools  mad. 

Gnat.  Deep  in  this  conversation,  wq  at  length 
Come  to  the  market,  where  the  scv’ral  tradesmen, 

Butchers,  cooks,  grocers,  poult’rers,  fishmongers, 

(Who  once  did  profit  and  still  profit  by  me,) 

All  run  witli  joy  to  me,  salute,  invite. 

And  bid  me  welcome.  He,  poor  half-starv’d  wretch, 

Soon  as  he  saw  me  thus  caress’d,  and  found 

I got  my  bread  so  easily,  desired 

He  might  have  leave  to  learn  that  art  of  me. 

I b'-ile  him  follow  me,  if  possible: 

A nd,  as  the  Schools  of  the  Philosophers 
rfave  ta’en  from  the  Philosophers  their  names. 

So,  in  like  manner,  let  all  Parasites 
Be  call’d  from  me  Gnathonics ! 

Par.  Mark,  what  ease, 

And  being  kept  at  other’s  cost,  produces ! 

Gnat.  But  hold,  I must  convey  this  girl  to  Thais, 

And  bid  her  forth  to  sup. — Ha,  Parmeno ! 

Our  rival’s  slave,  standing  at  Thais’  door! 

— How  melancholy  he  appeal’s  ! All ’s  safe  : 

These  poor  rogues  find  but  a cold  welcome  here. 

I’ll  play  upon  this  knave.  (Aside.) 

Par.  These  fellows  think 

This  present  will  make  Thais  all  their  own.  (As'lde.) 

Gnat.  To  Parmeno,  his  lov’d  and  honor’d  friend, 

Gnatho  sends  greeting.  (Ironically.) — What  are  you  upon  ? 
Par.  My  legs. 

Gnat.  I see  it. — Is  there  nothing  here 
Displeasing  to  you  ? 

Par.  You. 

Gnat.  I do  believe  it. 

But  prithee,  is  there  nothing  else? 

Par.  Wherefore  ? 

Gnat.  Because  you’re  melancholy. 

Par.  Not  at  all. 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  EUMUCII. 


417 


Gnat.  Well,  do  not  be  so ! — Pray,  now,  what  d'ye  think 
Of  this  young  handmaid? 

Par.  Troth,  she ’s  not  amiss. 

Gnat.  I plague  the  rascal.  {Half  aside.) 

Par.  How  the  knave ’s  deceiv’d ! {Half  aside.) 

Gnat.  Will  not  this  gift  be  very  acceptable 
To  Thais,  think  you? 

Par.  You’d  insinuate 

That  we’re  shut  out. — There  is,  alas,  a change 
In  all  things. 

Gnat.  For  these  six  months,  Parmeno, 

For  six  whole  months  at  least,  I’ll  make  you  easy; 

You  sha’n’t  run  up  and  down,  and  watch  till  daylight; 
Come,  don’t  I make  you  happy? 

Par.  Very  happy. 

Gnat.  ’Tis  my  way  with  my  friends. 

Par.  You’re  very  good. 

Gnat.  But  I detain  you : you,  perhaps,  w^as  going 
Somewhere  else. 

Par.  Nowhere. 

Gnat.  May  I beg  you  then 
To  use  your  int’rest  here,  and  introduce  me 
To  Thais? 

Par.  Hence ! away ! these  doors 
Fly  open  now,  because  you  carry  her. 

Gnat.  Would  you  have  any  one  call’d  forth?  {ExiU 
Par.  Well,  well ! 

Pass  but  two  days ; and  you,  so  welcome  now% 

That  the  doors  open  with  your  little  finger. 

Shall  kick  against  them  then,  I w^arrant  you. 

Till  your  heels  ache  again. 

Re-enter  Gnatho. 

Gnat.  Ha  ! Parmeno  ! 

Are  you  here  still  ? What ! are  you  left  a spy, 

Lest  any  go-between  should  run  by  stealth 
To  Thais  from  the  Captain?  {ExiU 

Par.  Very  smart ! 

No  wonder  such  a wit  delights  the  Captain! 

But  hold ! I see  my  master’s  younger  son 
Coming  this  way.  I wonder  much  he  should 
Desert  Piraeus,  where  he ’s  now  on  guard. 

’Tis  not  for  nothing.  All  in  haste  he  comes. 

And  seems  to  look  about. 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Ciuerea  ; Parmeno  behind. 

Ch.er.  Undone  ! undone  ! 

The  Girl  is  lost ; I know  not  where  she  is, 


418 


TIIK  EU^'UCIT. 


[Act  II. 


Nor  where  I am  : ah,  whither  shall  I trace  ? 

Where  seek  ? of  whom  inquire  ? or  which  way  turn  ? 
I’m  all  uncertain  ; but  have  one  hope  still : 
Where’er  she  is,  she  can  not  long  lie  hid. 

Oh  charming  face ! all  others  from  my  memory 
Hence  I blot  out.  Away  with  common  beauties ! 

Par.  So,  here’s  the  other ! and  he  mutters  too 
I know  not  what  of  love.  Oh  what  a poor 
Unfortunate  old  man  their  father  is ! 

As  for  this  stripling,  if  he  once  begin. 

His  brother’s  is  but  jest  and  children’s  play 
To  his  mad  fury. 

Ch^r.  Twice  ten  thousand  curses 
Seize  the  old  wretch,  who  kept  me  back  to-day ; 
And  me  for  staying ! with  a fellow  too 
I did  not  care  a farthing  for! — But  see! 

Yonder  stands  Parmeno. — Good-day ! 

Par.  How  now? 

Wherefore  so  sad  ? and  why  this  hurry,  Cha;rea  ? 
Whence  come  you? 

Ch^r.  I ? I can  not  tell,  i’  faith, 

AVhence  I am  come,  or  whither  I am  going, 

I’ve  so  entirely  lost  myself. 

Par.  And  why? 

Cii^R.  I am  in  love. 

Par.  Oh  brave ! 

Ch^er.  Now",  Parmeno, 

Now  you  may  show  what  kind  of  man  you  are. 

You  know  you’ve  often  told  me ; Chaerea, 

Find  something  out  to  set  your  heart  upon. 

And  mark  how  I will  serve  you!  yes,  you  know 
You’ve  often  said  so,  when  I scrap’d  together 
All  the  provisions  for  you  at  my  father’s. 

Par.  Away,  you  trifler! 

Ch^r.  Nay,  in  faith,  it’s  true : 

Now  make  your  promise  good ! and  in  a cause 
Worthy  the  utmost  Teachings  of  your  soul : 

A girl ! my  Parmeno,  not  like  our  misses ; 

Whose  mothers  try  to  keep  their  shoulders  down. 
And  bind  their  bosoms,  that  their  shapes  may  seem 
Genteel  and  slim.  Is  a girl  rather  plump  ? 

They  call  her  nurse,  and  stint  her  in  her  food : 

Thus  art,  in  spite  of  nature,  makes  them  all 
Mere  bulrushes : and  therefore  they’re  belov’d. 

Par.  And  what’s  this  girl  of  yours? 

CiiiER.  A miracle. 

Par.  Oh,  to  be  sure ! 

Cii^R.  True,  natural  red  and  wdiite  ; 

Her  body  firm,  and  full  of  precious  stuff! 

Par.  Her  age  ? 

Ch^r.  About  sixteen. 


IlLJ 


THE  EUNUCn. 


419 


Par.  The  very  prime ! 

Cii.^:r.  This  girl,  by  force,  by  stealth,  or  by  entreaty, 
Procure  me  ! how  I care  not,  so  I have  her. 

Par.  \Vell,  whom  does  she  belong  to? 

CHiER.  I don’t  know. 

Par.  Whence  comes  she  ? 

Cn.ER.  I can’t  tell. 

Par.  Where  does  she  live  ? 

Cii.ER.  I can’t  tell  neither. 

Par.  Where  was  it  you  saw  her? 

Ch^r.  Here  in  the  street. 

Par.  And  how  was  it  you  lost  her  ? 

CniER.  Why  it  was  that,  which  I so  fumed  about, 

As  I came  hither!  nor  was  ever  man 
So  jilted  by  good  fortune  as  myself. 

Par.  What  mischief  now? 

Ch^r.  Confounded  luck. 

Par.  How  so? 

Gh^r.  How  so!  d’ye  know  one  Archidemides, 

My  father’s  kinsman,  and  about  his  age  ? 

Par.  Full  well. 

CiiiER.  As  I was  in  pursuit  of  her 
He  met  me. 

Par.  Father  inconveniently. 

Ch/er.  Oh  most  unhappily ! for  other  ills 
May  be  told,  Parmeno ! — I could  swear  too, 

For  six,  nay  seven  months,  I had  not  seen  him, 

Till  now,  when  least  I wish’d  and  most  would  shun  it. 

Is  not  this  monstrous  ? Eh ! 

Par.  Oh ! very  monstrous. 

CinER.  Soon  as  from  far  he  saw  me,  instantly. 

Bent,  trembling,  drop-jaw’d,  gasping,  out  of  breath. 

He  hobbled  up  to  me. — Holo  ! ho ! Chasrea ! — 

I stopp’d. — D’ye  know  what  I want  with  you? — What? 
— I have  a cause  to-morrow. — ^Well!  what  then? — 

— ^Fail  not  to  tell  your  father,  he  remember 

To  go  up  with  me,  as  an  advocate. 

His  prating  took  some  time.  Aught  else  ? said  I. 
Nothing,  said  he : — Away  flew  I,  and  saw 
The  girl  that  instant  turn  into  this  street. 

Par.  Sure  he  must  mean  the  virgin,  just  now  brought 
To  Thais  for  a present. 

Ch^r.  Soon  as  1 

Came  hither,  slie  was  out  of  sight. 

Par.  Had  she 
Any  attendants? 

Ch^r.  Yes;  a parasite, 

With  a maid-servant. 

Par.  ’Tis  the  very  same: 

Away!  have  done!  all’s  ever. 

CiiiER.  What  d’ve  mean  ? 


420 


THK  EUNUCH. 


[Act  II. 


Par.  The  girl  I mcjin.  • 

Ch^r.  D’ye  know  then  who  she  is  ? 

Tell  me! — or  have  you  seen  her? 

Par.  Yes,  I’ve  seen  her; 

I know  her ; and  can  tell  you  where  she  is. 

Cii.ER.  How!  my  dear  Parmeno,  d’ye  know  her? 

Par.  Yes. 

CiiiER.  And  where  she  is,  d’ye  know? 

Par.  Yes, — there  she  is ; (^Pointing,') 

Carried  to  Madam  Thais  for  a present. 

CiiiER.  What  monarch  could  bestow  a gift  so  precious  ? 
Par.  The  mighty  Captain  Thraso,  Phaedria's  rival. 
Ch^er.  Alas,  j)Oor  brother! 

Par.  Aye,  and  if  you  knew 
The  gift  he  sends  to  be  compar’d  with  this, 

You’d  cry  alas,  indeed! 

Ch^r.  What  is  his  gift? 

Par.  An  Eunuch. 

CHiER.  What ! tliat  old  and  ugly  slave 
That  he  bought  yesterday? 

Par.  The  very  same. 

CiiiER.  Why,  surely,  he’ll  be  trundled  out  o’  doors 
He  and  his  gil’t  together — I ne’er  knew 
Till  now  that  Thais  was  our  neighbor. 

Par.  She 

Has  not  been  long  so. 

Cii^R.  Ev’ry  way  unlucky: 

Ne’er  to  have  seen  her  neither  Prithee,  tell  me, 

Is  she  so  handsome,  as  she’s  said  to  be? 

Par.  Yes,  faith? 

Cii^R.  But  nothing  to  compare  to  mine. 

Par.  Oh,  quite  another  thing. 

Ch^r.  But  Parmeno! 

Contrive  that  I may  have  her. 

Par.  Well,  I will. 

Depend  on  my  assistance: — have  you  any 
Further  commands  ? (As  if  going,') 

Ch^r.  Where  are  you  going? 

Par.  Home ; 

To  bring  according  to  your  brother’s  order, 

The  slaves  to  Thais. 

CHiER.  Oh,  that  happy  Eunuch ! 

To  be  convey’d  into  that  house ! 

Par.  Why  so? 

CiiiER.  Why  so?  why,  he  shall  have  that  charming  girl 
His  fellow-servant,  see  her,  speak  with  her, 

Be  with  her  in  the  same  house  all  day  long, 

And  sometimes  eat,  and  sometimes  sleep  by  her. 

Par.  And  what  if  you  should  be  so  happy? 

Ch.er.  How  ? 

Tell  mo,  dear  Parmeno ! 


Sc.  111.] 


Tin:  EUNUCH. 


421 


Par.  Assume  liis  dress. 

Cn.ER.  Ilis  dress ! what  then  ? 

Par.  I’ll  cany  you  for  him. 

Ch^r.  I hear  you. 

Par.  I will  say  that  you  are  he. 

CliJiR.  I understand  you. 

Par.  So  shall  you  enjoy 
Those  blessings  which  but  now  you  envied  him : 

Eat  with  her,  be  with  her,  touch,  toy  with  her, 

And  sleep  by  her : since  none  of  Thais’  maids 
Know  you,  or  dream  of  what  you  are.  Besides, 

Your  figure,  and  your  age  are  such,  that  you 
May  well  pass  for  an  Eunuch. 

Ch^kr.  Oh,  well  said! 

I ne’er  heard  better  counsel.  Come,  let’s  in? 

Dress  me,  and  carry  me!  Away,  make  haste! 

Par.  What  are  you  at  ? I did  but  jest. 

Cn^R.  You  trifle. 

Par.  I’m  ruin’d : fool,  w’hat  have  I done  ? Nay,  whither 
D’ye  push  me  thus?  You’ll  throw  me  down.  Nay,  stay! 
Ciiter.  Away. 

Par.  Nay,  prithee! 

CniER.  I’m  resolv’d. 

Par.  Consider ; 

You  carry  this  too  far. 

Ch.er.  No,  not  at  all. 

Give  way! 

Par.  And  Parmeno  must  pay  for  all. 

Ah,  we  do  wrong! 

Cha^r.  Is  it  then  wrong  for  me 
To  be  convey’d  into  a house  of  harlots. 

And  turn  those  very  arts  on  them,  with  which 
They  hamper  us,  and  turn  our  youth  to  scorn  ? 

Can  it  be  wrong  for  me  too,  in  my  turn. 

To  deceive  them,  by  whom  we’re  all  deceiv’d? 

No,  rather  let  it  be ! ’tis  just  to  play 

This  trick  upon  them:  which,  if  gray-beards  know, 

They’ll  blame  indeed,  but  all  will  think  well  done. 

Par.  Well,  if  you  must,  you  must ; but  do  not  then, 
After  all’s  over,  throw  the  blame  on  me. 

CniER.  No,  no! 

Par.  But  do  you  order  me? 

Ch^r.  I do: 

Order,  command,  force. 

Par.  Oh,  I’ll  not  dispute 
Your  pow’r.  So,  follow  me. 

Ch^er.  lieav’n  speed  the  plow. 


422 


THE  EUNUCH. 


[Act  hi. 


ACT  THE  THIRD. 

Scene  L 

Enter  Thraso  and  Gnatho. 

Thraso.  And  Thais  then  returns  me  many  thanks? 
Gnat.  Ten  thousand. 

Thra.  Say,  is  she  delighted  with  it? 
j Gnat.  Not  so  much  with  the  gift  itself,  as  that 
i By  you  ’twas  given : but  therein  she  triumphs. 

Enter  Parmeno  hehind. 

Par.  I’m  come  to  look  about  me,  and  observe 
A proper  opportunity  to  bring 
My  presents.  But  behold  the  Captain! 

Tiira.  ’Tis 

j Something,  I know  not  how,  peculiar  to  me, 
i That  all  I do ’s  agreeable. 

Gnat.  In  trutli 
I have  observ’d  it. 

Tiira.  E’en  the  King  always 
Held  himself  much  obliged,  whate’er  I did; 

Not  so  to  others. 

Gnat,  Men  of  wit,  like  you. 

The  glory,  got  by  others’  care  and  toil, 

Often  transfer  unto  themselves. 

Thra.  You’ve  hit  it. 

Gnat.  The  king  then  held  you 

Thra.  Certainly. 

Gnat.  Most  dear. 

Thra.  Most  near.  He  trusted  his  whole  army  to  me, 

His  counsels. 

Gnat.  Wonderful ! 

Thra.  And  then  whene’er 
Satiety  of  company,  or  hate 

Of  business  seiz’d  him — when  he  would  repose — 

As  if— — you  understand  me. 

Gnat.  Perfectly. 

When  he  would — in  a manner — clear  his  stomach 
Of  all  uneasiness. 

Thra.  The  very  thing. 

On  such  occasions  he  chose  none  but  me. 

Gnat.  Hui ! there’s  a king  indeed ! a king  of  taste ! 
Thra.  One  of  a thousand. 

Gnat.  Of  a million  sure ! 

— If  he  could  live  with  you.  {Aside.) 

Thra.  The  courtiers  all 
Began  to  envy  me,  and  rail’d  in  secret : 

I car’d  not;  whence  their  spleen  increas’d  the  more. 


Lj 


THE  EUNUCH. 


423 


Tjne  ill  particular,  who  had  the  charge 
Of  til’  Indian  elephants ; Avho  grew  at  last 
So  very  troublesome,  “ I prithee,  Strato, 

Arc  you  so  savage,  and  so  fierce,  (says  I,) 

Because  you’re  governor  of  the  wild  beasts?” 

Gnat.  Oh,  finely  said!  and  shrew'dly!  excellent! 

Too  hard  upon  him! — what  said  he  to’t? 

Thra.  Nothing. 

Gnat.  And  how  the  devil  should  he? 

Par.  Gracious  Heav’n ! 

The  stupid  coxcomb! — and  that  rascal  too!  (Aside.) 
Thra.  Aye!  but  the  story  of  the  Phodian,  Gnatho! 

How  smart  I was  upon  him  at  a feast- 

Did  I ne’er  tell  you? 

Gnat.  Never:  but  pray  do! 

— I’ve  heard  it  o’er  and  o’er  a thousand  times.  (Aside.) 

Thra.  Wc  were  by  chance  together  at  a feast 

This  Khodian,  that  I told  you  of  and  I. — ^ 

I,  as  it  happen’d,  had  a wench  ; the  spark 
Began  to  toy  w'ith  her,  and  laugh  at  me. 

“ Why  how  now.  Impudence ! (said  I,)  are  you 
A hare  yourself,  and  yet  would  hunt  for  gamef^ 

Gnat.  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

Thra.  What’s  the  matter? 

Gnat.  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

Witty!  smart!  excellent!  incomparable  I 
Is  it  your  own  ? I swear  I thought  ’twas  old. 

Thra.  WTiy,  did  you  ever  hear  it  ? 

Gnat.  Very  often; 

And  reckon’d  admirable. 

Thra,  ’Tis  my  own. 

Gnat.  And  yet  ’twas  pity  to  be  so  severe 
On  a young  fellow,  and  a gentleman. 

Par.  Ah ! devil  take  you ! {Aside.) 

Gnat.  What  became  of  him  ? 

Thra.  It  did  for  him.  The  company  were  all 
Beady  to  die  with  laughing  : — in  a word, 

They  dreaded  me. 

Gnat.  No  wonder. 

Thra.  Harkye,  Gnatho ! 

Thais,  you  know,  suspects  I love  this  girl. 

Shall  I acquit  myself? 

I Gnat.  On  no  account. 

I Bather  increase  her  jealousy. 

Thra.  And  why  ? 

Gnat.  Why? — do  you  ask? — as  if  you  didn’t  know! — 
Whene’er  she  mentions  Phaedria,  or  whene’er 

She  praises  him,  to  vex  you 

Thra.  I perceive. 

Gnat.  To  hinder  that,  you’ve  only  this  resource. 

'\^Tien  she  names  Plm?drin,  name  you  Pamphila. 


424 


THE  EUNUCH. 


[Act  hi. 


If  she  should  say,  come ! let’s  have  Phasdria 
To  dinner  with  us! — aye,  and  Pamphila 
To  sing  to  us ! — if  she  praise  Phaedria’s  person. 

Praise  you  the  girl’s!  so  give  her  tit  for  tat, 

And  gall  her  in  her  turn. 

Thka.  Suppose  she  lov’d  me. 

This  might  avail  me,  Gnatho ! 

Gnat.  While  she  loves 

The  presents  which  you  give,  expecting  more, 

So  long  she  loves  you;  and  so  long  you  may 
Have  pow’r  to  vex  her.  She  will  always  fear 
To  make  you  angry,  lest  some  other  reap 
The  harvest,  which  she  now  enjoys  alone. 

Thka.  You’re  right : and  yet  I never  thought  of  it. 
Gnat.  Ridiculous ! because  you  did  not  turn 
Your  thoughts  that  way;  or  with  how  much  more  ease 
Would  you  have  hit  on  this  device  yourself! 


Scene  II. 

Enter  Thais  and  Pythias. 

Thais.  I thought  I heard  the  Ciiptain’s  voice : and  see ! 
Good-day,  my  Thraso ! 

Thra.  Oil  my  Thais,  welcome! 

How  does  my  sweeting? — are  you  fond  of  me 
For  sending  you  that  music-girl? 

Par.  Oh  brave  ! ^ 

He  sets  out  nobly ! 

IThais.  For  your  worth  I love  you. 

Gnat.  Come,  let’s  to  supper?  why  do  you  delay? 

Par.  Mark  t’other ! he’s  a chip  of  the  old  block. 

Thais.  I’m  ready  when  you  please. 

Par.  I’ll  up  to  her, 

And  seem  as  if  but  now  come  forth. — Ha!  Thais, 

Where  are  you  gadding? 

Thais.  Well  met,  Parmeno ! 

I was  just  going 

Par.  Whither? 

Thais.  Don’t  you  see 
The  Captain? 

Par.  Yes,  I see  him — to  my  sorrow. 

The  presents  from  my  master  wait  your  pleasure. 

Thra.  Why  do  we  stop  thus?  wherefore  go  not  hence? 

(^Angrily.) 

Par.  Beseech  you,  Captain,  let  us,  with  your  leave. 
Produce  our  presents,  treat,  and  parley  with  her! 
sThra.  Fine  gifts,  I warrant  you,  compar’d  with  mine! 

Par.  They’ll  answer  for  themselves — Holo,  there!  order 
The  slaves,  I told  you,  to  come  forth. — Here,  this  way  I 


11] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


425 


Enter  a Black  Girl. 

Do  you  stand  forward  I — This  girlj  ma’am,  comes  quite 
f'rom  Ethiopia. 

Thra.  Worth  about  three  Mina?. 

Gnat.  Scarce. 

Par.  Ho!  where  are  you,  Dorus? — Oh,  come  hither! 

Enter  CniEREA  in  the  EunucKs  hahit. 

An  Eunuch,  Madam!  of  a lib’ral  air. 

And  in  his  prime! 

Thais.  Now  as  I live,  he’s  handsome ! 

Bar.  What  say  you,  Gnatho?  Is  he  despicable? 

Or,  Captain,  what  say  you? — Dumb? — Praise  sufficient; 
Try  him  in  letters,  exercises,  music: 
in  all  the  arts,  a gentleman  should  know, 
i’ll  W'arrant  him  accomplish’d. 

TiiRA.  Troth,  that  Eunuch 
Is  well  enough. 

Bar.  And  he,  who  sends  these  presents, 

Requires  you  not  to  live  for  him  alone. 

And  for  his  sake  to  shut  out  all  mankind: 

Nor  does  he  tell  his  battles,  show  his  wounds, 

Ur  shackle  your  free  will,  as  some  folks  do. 

(Looting  at  Tiiraso.) 

But  when  ’twill  not  be  troublesome,  or  when 
You’ve  leisure,  in  due  season,  he’s  content 
If  then  he  is  admitted. 

Thra.  This  poor  fellow' 

Seems  to  belong  to  a poor  wu'etched  master. 

Gnat.  Beyond  all  doubt ; for  who  that  could  obtain 
Another,  w^ould  endure  a slave  like  this? 

Bar.  Peace,  WTetch,  that  art  below  the  meanest  slave ! 
You  that  could  bring  your  mind  so  very  low', 

As  to  cry  aye  and  no  at  yon  fool’s  bidding, 

I’m  sure,  might  get  your  bread  out  o’  the  fire. 

Thra.  Why  don’t  we  go?  {Impatiently,) 

Thais.  Let  me  but  carry  in 
These  first,  and  give  some  orders  in  the  house. 

And  I’ll  attend  you. 

(Exit  with  Chorea,  and  the  Ethiopian, 
Thra.  I’ll  depart  from  hence. 

Gnatho,  wait  you  for  her ! 

Par.  It  ill  beseems 

The  dignity  of  a renown’d  commander, 

T’  escort  his  mistress  in  the  street. 

Thra.  Away, 

Slave!  you’re  beneath  my  notice — like  your  master. 

(Exit  Parmeno. 

Gnat.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha! 

Thra,  What  moves  vour  laua:htcr? 

Gnat.  That 


426 


THE  EUNUCH. 


[Act  hi. 


You  said  just  r.ow : and  then  the  Rhodian  came 

Across  my  mind. But  Thais  comes. 

Tiira.  Go  run, 

And  see  that  ev’ry  thing’s  prepar’d  at  home! 

Gnat.  It  shall  be  done.  {Exit, 

Thais  (entering  icith  Pythias).  Take  care  now,  Pythias, 
Great  care,  if  Chremes  come,  to  press  him  stay; 

Or,  if  that’s  inconvenient,  to  return: 

If  that’s  impossible,  then  bring  him  to  me! 

Pyth.  I’ll  do  so. 

Thais.  Hold  i what  else  had  I to  say  ? 

Take  care,  be  sure,  of  yonder  virgin ! see, 

Y'ou  keep  at  home. 

Thra.  Let’s  go. 

Thais.  Girls,  follow  me ! 

(Exit,  attended  hij  Servants  and  Thraso. 


Scene  III. 

CiiREMES  alone. 

In  truth  the  more  and  more  I think,  the  more 
I am  convinc’d  that  Thais  means  me  ill: 

So  plain  I see  her  arts  to  draw  me  in. 

Ev’n  when  she  first  invited  me,  (and  when 
Had  any  ask’d,  What  business  have  you  there  ? 

The  question  would  have  stagger’d  me,)  she  fram’d 
Sev’ral  excuses  to  detain  me  there. 

Said  she  had  made  a sacrifice,  and  had 
Affairs  of  consequence  to  settle  with  me. 

— Oho!  thought  I immediately,  I smell 
A trick  upon  me! — down  she  sat,  behav’d 
Familiarly,  and  tried  to  beat  about 
For  conversation.  Being  at  a loss, 

She  ask’d,  how  long  my  parents  had  been  dead? 

— I told  her,  long  time  since: — on  which  she  ask’d. 
Whether  I had  a country-house  at  Sunium  ? 

— And  how  far  from  the  sea? — I half  believe 
She  likes  my  villa,  and  would  wheedle  me 
To  give  it  her. — Her  final  questions  were. 

If  I ne’er  lost  a little  sister  thence? 

— Who  was  miss’d  with  her? — what  she  had  when  lost? 
If  any  one  could  know  her?  Why  should  Thais 
Demand  all  this,  unless, — a saucy  baggage  ! — 

She  means  to  play  the  counterfeit,  and  feign 
Herself  that  sister? — but  if  she’s  alive. 

She  is  about  sixteen,  not  more;  Thais 
Is  elder  than  myself. — She  sent  beside 
To  beg  I’d  come  again. — Or,  let  her  say 
What  she  would  have ; or,  not  be  troublesome ! 

I’ll  not  return  a third  time. — Ho!  who’s  there? 

Here  am  I ! Chromes ! 


VI.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


427 


Scene  IV. 

Enter  Pythias. 

Ptth.  Oh,  sweet,  charming,  Sir! 

Chre.  a coaxing  hussy! 

Pyth.  Thais  begs  and  prays 
You’d  copje  again  to-morrow. 

Chre.  I am  going 
Into  the  country. 

Pyth.  Nay,  now  prithee  cornel 
Chre.  I can’t,  I tell  you. 

Pyth.  Walk  in,  then,  and  stay 
Till  she  returns  herself. 

Chre.  Not  I. 

Pyth.  And  why. 

Hear  Chremes  ? 

Cure.  Go,  and  hang  yourself! 

Pyth.  Well,  Sir, 

Since  you’re  so  positive,  shall  I entreat  you 
To  go  to  her  ? 

Chre.  I will. 

Pyth.  Here,  Horias ! (A  maidservant  enters.) 

Conduct  this  gentleman  to  Captain  Thraso’s. 

(Pythias  re-enters. — Chremes  qoes  out  another  way  with 

Horias.) 

Scene  Y. 

Antipho  alone. 

But  yesterday  a knot  of  us  young  fellows 
Assembled  at  Piraeus,  and  agreed 
To  club  together  for  a feast  to-day. 

Chaerea  had  charge  of  all ; the  rings  were  given, 

And  time  and  place  appointed. — The  time’s  past; 

No  entertainment’s  at  the  place;  and  Chaerea 
Is  nowhere  to  be  found. — I can’t  tell  what 
To  think  on’t. — Yet  the  rest  of  my  companions 
Have  all  commission’d  me  to  seek  him  out. 

I’ll  see  if  he’s  at  home ; — but  who  comes  here 

Prom  Thais  ? — Is  it  he,  or  no  ? — ’Tis  he. 

— ^What  manner  of  man’s  here? — what  habit’s  that? 

— What  mischief  has  the  rogue  been  at?  I’m  all 
Astonishment,  and  can  not  guess. — But  I’ll 
Withdraw  a while,  and  try  to  find  it  out.  (Retires.) 

Scene  VI. 

Enter  Cit/EREA,  in  the  EmiuclCs  habit. 

CriiER.  Qoolcwg  about).  Is  any  body  here  ? — No,  nobody. 
Hoes  any  folloAv  me  ? — No,  nobody. 


428 


THE  EUNUCH 


[Act  m. 


May  I then  let  my  ecstasy  break  forth ! 

0 Jupiter!  ’tis  now  the  very  time, 

When  I could  suffer  to  be  put  to  death, 

Lest  not  another  transport  like  to  this. 

Remain  in  life  to  come. — But  is  there  not 
Some  curious  impertinent  to  come 

Across  me  now,  and  murder  me  with  questions  ? 

— To  ask,  why  I’m  so  flutter’d?  why  so  joyful? 

Whither  I’m  going?  whence  I came?  and  ^here 

1 got  this  habit?  what  I’m  looking  after? 

Whether  I’m  in  my  senses?  or  stark  mad? 

Anti.  I’ll  go  myself,  and  do  that  kindness  to  him. 

Chcerea,  (advancing,')  what’s  all  this  flutter  ? what’s  this  dress  ? 
What  is’t  transports  you?  what  d’ye  want?  art  mad? 

Why  do  ye  start  at  mo?  and  why  not  speak? 

CHiER.  O happy,  happy  day ! — SaA^e  you,  dear  friend ! 
There’s  not  a man  on  earth  I’d  rather  sec 
This  moment  than  yourself. 

Anti.  Come,  tell  me  all ! 

Ciiii-'.R.  Tell  you ! I will  beseech  you  give  me  hearing, 
ll’ve  know  my  brother’s  mistress  here? 

Anti.  Yes : Tliais, 

Or  I’m  deceiv’d. 

CiiyER.  The  same. 

Anti.  I do  remember. 

CiiiER.  To-day  a girl  w^as  sent  a present  to  her. 

Why  need  I speak  or  praise  her  beauty  noAv 
To  you,  that  know  me,  and  my  taste  so  well  ? 

She  set  me  all  on  fire. 

Anti.  Is  she  so  handsome? 

CiiiER.  Most  exquisite:  Oh,  had  you  but  once  seen  her, 
You  would  pronounce  her,  I am  confident, 

The  first  of  womankind. — But  to  be  brief, 

I fell  in  love  with  her. — By  great  good  luck 
Tliere  was  at  home  an  Eunuch,  which  my  brother 
Had  bought  for  Thais,  but  not  yet  sent  thither. 

— I had  a gentle  hint  from  Parmono, 

Which  I seiz’d  greedily. 

Anti.  And  what  Avas  that? 

CiiiER.  Peace,  and  I’ll  tell  you. — To  change  dresses  with 
And  order  Parmeno  to  carry  me  [him, 

Instead  of  him. 

Anti.  Hoav  ? for  an  Eunuch,  you  ? 

CiEER.  E’en  so. 

Anti.  What  good  could  you  deriv’e  from  that? 

Cri.TiR.  What  good! — Avhy,  see,  and  hear,  and  be  with  her 
I languish’d  for,  my  Antipho ! — Avas  that 
An  idle  reason,  or  a trivial  good? 

— To  Thais  I’m  deliver’d;  she  receives  me, 

And  carries  me  Avith  joy  into  her  house; 

Commits  tlm  charming  gi:l 


Sc.  vr.] 


thp:  eunuch. 


429 


Anti.  To  ^Yllom? to  you? 

Ch^r.  To  me. 

Anti.  In  special  hands,  I must  confess. 

CHiER.  — Enjoins  me  to  permit  no  man  come  near  her ; 
Nor  to  depart,  myself,  one  instant  from  her ; 

But  in  an  inner  chamber  to  remain 
Alone  with  her  alone.  I nod,  and  look 
Bashfully  on  the  ground. 

Anti.  Poor  simple  soul! 

Ch.er.  I am  bid  forth,  says  she ; and  carries  otf 
All  her  maid-servants  with  her,  save  some  few 
Haw  novices,  who  straight  prepar’d  the  bath. 

I bade  them  haste  ; and  while  it  was  preparing. 

In  a retiring-room  the  Virgin  sat; 

Viewing  a picture,  where  the  tale  w*as  drawn 
Of  Jove’s  descending  in  a golden  show’r 

To  Dance’s  bosom. 1 beheld  it  too, 

And  because  he  of  old  the  like  game  play’d, 

I felt  my  mind  exult  the  more  within  me. 

That  Jove  should  change  himself  into  a man. 

And  steal  in  secret  through  a stranger- roof. 

With  a mere  woman  to  intrigue. — Great  Jove, 

Who  shakes  the  highest  heav’ns  with  his  thunder ! 

And  I,  poor  mortal  man,  not  do  the  same! — 

I did  it,  and  with  all  my  heart  I did  it. 

— ^While  thoughts,  like  these,  possess’d  my  soul,  they  call’d 
The  girl  to  bathe.  She  goes,  bathes,  then  returns : 

Which  done,  the  servants  put  her  into  bed. 

I stand  to  wait  their  orders.  Up  comes  one. 

Here,  harkye,  Dorus ! take  this  fan  and  mark 
You  cool  her  gently  thus,  while  we  go  bathe. 

When  we  have  bath’d,  you,  if  you  j^lease,  bathe  too, 

I,  with  a sober  air,  receive  the  fan. 

Anti.  Then  would  I fain  have  seen  your  simple  face  I 
I should  have  been  delighted  to  behold 
How  like  an  ass  you  look’d,  and  held  the  fan. 

Ch^r.  Scarce  had  she  spoke,  when  all  rush’d  out  o’  doors ; 
Away  they  go  to  bathe ; grow  full  of  noise. 

As  servants  use,  when  masters  are  abroad. 

Meanwhile  sleep  seiz’d  the  virgin:  I,  by  stealth,  ’ 

Peep’d  through  the  fan-sticks  thus ; then  looking  round. 

And  seeing  all  was  safe,  made  fast  the  door. 

Anti.  What  then? 

ChuER.  What  then,  fool! 

Anti.  I confess. 

Cii^R.  D’ye  think, 

Bless’d  with  an  opportunity  like  this. 

So  short,  so  wish’d  for,  yet  so  unexpected. 

I’d  let  it  slip  ? No.  Then  I’d  been,  indeed, 

The  thing  I counterfeited. 


430 


THE  EUNUCH. 


[Act  IV. 


Anti.  Very  true. 

But  what’s  become  of  our  club-supper? 

Cii^R.  Beady, 

Anti.  An  honest  fellow!  where?  at  your  own  house? 
Ch.t:r.  At  Freeman  Discus’s. 

Anti.  A great  way  off. 

Ch^r.  Tlien  we  must  make  more  haste. 

Anti.  But  change  your  dress. 

Ch^r.  Where  can  I change  it  ? I’m  distress’d.  From  homo 
I must  play  truant,  lest  I meet  my  brother. 

My  father  too,  pci  haps,  is  come  to  town. 

Anti.  Come  then  to  my  house ! that’s  the  nearest  place 
Where  you  may  shift. 

Ch^r.  With  all  my  heart ! let’s  go ! 

And  at  the  same  time.  I’ll  consult  with  you 
How  to  enjoy  this  dear  girl. 

Anti.  Be  it  so. 


ACT  THE  FOUBTH. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Dorias,  with  a Casket, 
Dorias. 

Now,  as  I hope  for  mercy,  I’m  afraid, 

From  what  I’ve  seen,  lest  yonder  swaggerer 
Make  some  disturbance,  or  do  violence 
To  Thais.  For  as  soon  as  Chremes  came, 
(The  youth  that’s  brother  to  the  virgin,)  she 
Beseech ’d  of  Thraso  he  might  be  admitted. 
This  piqu’d  him ; yet  he  durst  not  well  refuse. 
She,  fearing  Chremes  should  not  be  detain’d. 
Till  she  had  time  and  opportunity 
To  tell  him  all  she  wish’d  about  his  sister, 
Urg’d  Thraso  more  and  more  to  ask  him  in. 
The  Captain  coldly  asks  him;  down  he  sat; 
And  Thais  enter’d  into  chat  with  him. 

The  Captain,  fancying  a rival  brought 
Before  his  face,  resolv’d  to  vex  her  too : 

Here,  boy,  said  he,  let  Pamphila  be  call’d 
To  entertain  us  ! — Pamphila ! cries  Thais ; 

She  at  a banquet  ? — No  it  must  not  be, — 
Thraso  insisting  on’t,  a broil  ensued: 

On  which  my  mistress  slyly  slipping  off 
Her  jewels,  gave  them  me  to  bear  away; 
Which  is,  I know,  a certain  sign,  she  will, 

As  soon  as  possible,  sneak  off  herself. 


Exit,) 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


431 


Scene  II. 

Enter  Ph^dria. 

Ph^d.  Going  into  the  country,  I began 
(As  happens  when  the  mind  is  ill  at  ease) 

To  ponder  with  myself  upon  the  road, 

Tossing  from  thought  to  thought,  and  viewing  all 
In  the  worst  light.  While  thus  I ruminate, 

I pass  unconsciously  my  country-house, 

And  had  got  far  beyond,  ere  I perceiv’d  it. 

I turn’d  about,  but  with  a heavy  heart ; 

And  soon  as  to  the  very  spot  I came 

Where  the  roads  part,  I stop.  Then  paus’d  a while: 

Alas!  thought  I,  and  must  I here  remain 

Two  days?  alone:  without  her? — Well!  what  then? 

That’s  nothing. — ^^Vhat,  is’t  nothing  ? — If  I’ve  not 
The  privilege  to  touch  her,  shall  I not 
Behold  her  neither  ? — If  one  may  not  be, 

At  least  the  other  shall. — And  certainly 
Love,  in  its  last  degree,  is  something  still. 

— Then  I,  on  purpose,  pass’d  the  house. — But  see! 

Pythias  breaks  forth  affrighted. — What  means  this? 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Pythias  and  Dorias  ; Ph^dria  at  a distance, 

Pyth.  Where  shall  I find,  unhappy  that  I am. 

Where  seek  this  rascal-slave  ? — this  slave,  that  durst 
To  do  a deed  like  this? — Undone!  undone! 

Ph^d.  What  this  may  be,  I dread. 

Pyth.  And  then  the  villain. 

After  he  had  abused  the  virgin,  tore 

The  poor  girl’s  clothes,  and  dragg’d  her  by  the  hair. 

PhtED.  IIow’s  this  ! 

Pyth.  Who,  were  he  now  within  my  reach. 

How  could  I fly  upon  the  vagabond. 

And  tear  the  villain’s  eyes  out  with  my  nails  ? 

Ph^d.  What  tumult’s  this,  arisen  in  my  absence  ? 

I’ll  go  and  ask  her. — {Going  up.)  What’s  the  matter,  Pythias? 
Why  thus  disturb’d  ? and  whom  is  it  you  seek  ? 

Pyth.  Whom  do  I seek  ? Away,  Sir  Phsedria ! 

You  and  your  gifts  together ! 

PHiED.  What’s  the  matter? 

Pyth.  The  matter,  Sir!  the  Eunuch,  that  you  sent  us, 
Has  made  fine  work  here ! the  young  virgin,  whom 
The  Captain  gave  my  mistress,  he  has  ravish’d. 

Ph.ed.  Ravish’d?  How  say  you? 

Pyth.  Ruin’d,  and  undone ! 

Ph^ed.  You’re  drunk. 


432 


THE  EUNUCH. 


[Act  IV. 


Pytii.  Would  those  who  wish  me  ill  were  so ! 

Dori.  Ah  Pythias ! what  strange  prodigy  is  this  ? 

Ph^d.  You’re  mad  : how  could  an  Eunuch- 

Ptth.  I don’t  know 

Or  who,  or  what  he  was. — What  he  has  done, 

The  thing  itself  declares. The  virgin  weeps, 

Nor,  when  you  ask  what  ails  her,  dare  she  tell. 

But  he,  good  man,  is  nowhere  to  be  found : 

And  I fear  too,  that  when  he  stole  away. 

He  carried  something  off. 

Pii^D.  I can’t  conceive 
Whither  the  rascal  can  have  flown,  unless 
He  to  our  house,  perhaps,  slunk  back  again. 

Pyth.  See  now,  I pray  you,  if  he  has. 

Ph^d.  I will.  {Exit, 

Dori.  Good  lack ! so  strange  a thing  I never  heard. 
Pyth.  I’ve  heard,  that  they  lov’d  women  mightily 
But  could  do  nothing ; yet  I never  thought  on’t : 

For  if  I had,  I’d  have  confin’d  him  close 
In  some  by-place,  nor  trusted  the  girl  to  him. 

Scene  IV, 

Re-enter  Ph^dria,  with  Dorus  the  Eunuch,  in  Cieerea’s  clothes, 

Ph^d.  Out,  rascal,  out ! — What  are  you  resty.  Sirrah  ? 
Out,  thou  vile  bargain  ! 

Dor.  Dear  Sir!  (^Crying.) 

Ph^d.  See  the  wretch ! 

What  a wry  mouth  he  makes  ! — Come,  what’s  the  meaning 
Of  your  returning?  and  your  change  of  dress? 

What  answer.  Sirrah  ! — If  I had  delay’d 
A minute  longer,  Pythias,  I had  miss’d  him, 

He  was  equipp’d  so  bravely  for  his  flight. 

Pyth.  What,  have  you  got  the  rogue? 

Ph.ed.  I warrant  you. 

Pyth.  Well  done  ! well  done  I 
Dori.  Aye,  marry,  very  well. 

Pyth.  Where  is  "he? 

PiL^D.  Don’t  you  see  him  ? 

Pyth.  See  him?  w^hom? 

Ph^d.  This  fellow,  to  be  sure. 

Pxth.  This  man  ! w'ho  is  he  ? 

Ph^d.  He  that  was  carried  to  your  house  to-day. 

. Pyth.  None  of  our  people  ever  laid  their  eyes 
Upon  this  fellow,  Phsedria ! 

PhuEd.  Never  saw  him? 

Pyth.  Why,  did  you  think  this  fellow  had  been  brought 
To  us? 

Piij^D.  Yes,  surely ; for  I had  no  other. 

Pyth.  Oh  dear!  this  fellow’s  not  to  be  compar’d 
To  t’other. Ho  v/as  elegant,  and  handsome. 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


433 


Ph^:d.  Aye,  so  he  might  apj^ear  a while  ago, 

Because  he  had  gay  clothes  on : now  he  seems 
Ugly,  because  he’s  stripped. 

Pyth.  Nay,  prithee,  peace  ! 

As  if  the  ditf  rence  was  so  very  small  I 

The  youth  conducted  to  our  house  to-day, 

’Twould  do  you  good  to  cast  your  eyes  on,  Phcedria : 

This  is  a drowsy,  wither’d,  weasel-fac’d, 

Old  fellow. 

Ph^d.  How? you  drive  me  to  that  pass, 

That  I scarce  know  what  I have  done  myself. 

— Did  not  I buy  you,  rascal?  {To  Dorus.) 

Dor.  Yes,  Sir. 

Pyth.  Order  him 
To  answer  me. 

Pn^m.  Well,  question  him. 

Pyth.  {to  Dorus).  Was  you 

Brought  here  to-day  ? {Shakes  his  head.)  See  there ! Not 
he.  It  was 

Another,  a young  lad,  about  sixteen, 

Whom  Parmeno  brought  with  him. 

Ph^rd.  (to  Dorus).  Speak  to  me ! 

First  tell  me,  whence  had  you  that  coat  ? What,  dumb  ? 

I’ll  make  you  speak,  you  villain  ? (Beating  him.) 

Dor.  Chajrea  came {Crying.) 

Ph.ed.  My  brother? 

Dor.  Yes,  Sir! 

Ph^d.  When? 

Dor.  To-day. 

Ph2ed.  How  long  since? 

Dor.  Just  now. 

Ph^d.  AVith  whom? 

Dor.  With  Parmeno, 

Ph^d.  Did  you 
Know  him  before  ? 

Dor.  No,  Sir;  nor  e’er  heard  of  him. 

PHiED.  How  did  you  know  then  that  he  was  my  brother? 
Dor.  Parmeno  told  me  so ; and  Chorea 
Gave  me  these  clothes — — 

Ph^ed.  Confusion!  (Aside.) 

Dor.  Put  on  mine ; 

And  then  they  both  went  out  o’  doors  together. 

Pyth.  Now,  Sir,  do  you  believe  that  I am  sober  ? 

Now  do  you  think.  I’ve  told  no  lie?  And  now 
Are  you  convinc’d  the  girl  has  been  abus’d ! 

Ph^d.  Away,  fool ! d’ye  believe  what  this  wretch  says  ? 
Pyth.  What  signifies  belief?— It  speaks  itself. 

PHiED.  (apart  to  Dorus).  Come  this  way — hark  ye ! fur- 
ther still. Enough. 

Tell  me  once  more. Did  Chaerea  strip  you? 

Dor.  Yes. 


T 


434 


THE  EUNUCH. 


[Act  IV. 


Pii^D.  And  put  your  clothes  on? 

Dor.  Yes,  Sir ! 

Ph^ed.  And  was  brought 
In  your  stead  hither? 

Dor.  Yes. 

Ph^d.  Great  Jupiter!  {Pretending  to  be  in  a passion  with  him.) 
What  a most  wicked  scoundrel ’s  this  ? 

Pyth.  Alas ! 

Don’t  you  believe,  then,  we’ve  been  vilely  us’d  ? 

PiiiED.  No  wonder  if  you  credit  what  he  says. 

I don’t  know  what  to  do.  {Aside.) — Here,  harkye.  Sirrah ! 
Deny  it  all  again.  {Apart  to  Dorus.) — What!  can’t  I beat 
The  truth  out  of  you,  rascal? — have  you  seen 
My  brother  Chasrea?  {Aloud,  and  heating  him.) 

Dor.  No,  Sir!  {Crying.) 

Phjed.  So  ! I see 

He  won’t  confess  without  a beating. — This  way ! {Apart.) 
Now 

He  owns  it;  now  denies  it. — Ask  my  pardon!  {Apart.) 
Dor.  Beseech  you.  Sir,  forgive  me ! 

Ph^d.  Get  you  gone.  {Kicking  him.) 

Oh  me  ! oh  dear ! {Exit,  howling. 

Ph^d.  {aside).  I had  no  other  way 
To  come  off  handsomely. — We’re  all  undone. 

— D’ye  think  to  play  your  tricks  on  me,  you  rascal? 

{Aloud,  and  Exit  ajter  Dorus. 

Scene  V. 

Manent  Pythias  and  Dorias. 

Pyth.  As  sure  as  I’m  alive,  this  is  a tri«k 
Of  Parmeno’s. 

Dori.  No  doubt  on’t. 

Pyth.  I’ll  devise 

Some  means  to-day  to  fit  him  for’t. — But  now 
What  would  you  have  me  do? 

Dori.  About  the  girl! 

Pyth.  Aye ; shall  I tell ; or  keep  the  matter  secret  ? 

Dori.  Troth,  if  you’re  wise  you  know  not  what  you  know, 
ITor  of  the  Eunuch,  nor  the  ravishment: 

So  shall  you  clear  yourself  of  all  this  trouble, 

And  do  a kindness  to  our  mistress  too. 

Say  nothing,  but  that  Dorus  is  gone  off. 

Pyth.  I’ll  do  so. 

Dori.  Prithee  is  not  Chremes  yonder? 

Thais  will  soon  be  here. 

Pyth.  How  so  ? 

Dori.  Because 

When  I came  thence,  a quarrel  was  abroach 
Among  them. 


Sc.  VII.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


435 


Pyth.  Carry  in  the  jewels,  Dorias. 

Meanwhile  I’ll  learn  of  Chremes  what  has  happen’d. 

{Exit  Dorias. 


Scene  VI. 

Enter  Chremes  tipsy, 

Chrem.  So  ! so ! — I’m  in  for’t — and  the  wine  I’ve  drank 
Has  made  me  reel  again. — Yet  while  I sat, 

How  sober  I suppos'd  myself! — But  I 
No  sooner  rose,  than  neither  foot,  nor  head. 

Knew  their  own  business ! 

Pyth.  Chremes ! 

Chrem.  Who’s  that? — Ha! 

Pythias! — How  much  more  handsome  you  seem  now, 

Than  you  appear’d  a little  while  ago ! 

Pyth.  I’m  sure  you  seem  a good  deal  merrier. 

Chrem.  I’  faith  it’s  an  old  saying,  and  a true  one, 
“Ceres  and  Bacchus  are  warm  friends  of  Venus.” 

— But,  pray,  has  Thais  been  here  long  before  me? 

Pyth.  Has  she  yet  left  the  Captain’s? 

Chrem.  Long  time  since: 

An  age  ago.  They’ve  had  a bloody  quarrel. 

Pyth.  Did  not  she  bid  you  follow  her? 

Chrem.  Not  she: 

Only  she  made  a sign  to  me  at  parting. 

Pyth.  Well,  w'asn’t  that  enough? 

Chrem.  No,  faith!  I did  not 
At  all  conceive  her  meaning,  till  the  Captain 
Gave  me  the  hint,  and  kick’d  me  out  o’  doors! 

— But  here  she  is!  I wonder  how  it  was, 

I overtook  her! 


Scene  VII. 

Enter  Thais. 

Thais.  I am  apt  to  think. 

The  Captain  will  soon  follow  me,  to  take 
The  virgin  from  me:  Well  then,  let  him  come! 
But  if  he  does  but  lay  a finger  on  her. 

We’ll  tear  his  eyes  out. — His  impertinence, 

And  big  words,  while  mere  words,  I can  endure ; 
But  if  he  comes  to  action,  woe  be  to  him ! 
Chrem.  Thais,  I have  been  here  some  time. 
Thais.  My  Chremes! 

The  very  man  I wanted ! — Do  you  know 

That  you  have  been  th’  occasion  of  this  quarrel  ? 

And  that  this  whole  affair  relates  to  you  ? 

Chrem.  To  me ! how  so  ? 


436 


THE  EUNUCH. 


[Act  IV. 


Thais.  Because,  while  I endeavor, 

And  study  to  restore  your  sister  to  you, 

This  and  much  more  I’ve  suffer’d. 

Chrem.  Where’s  my  sister? 

Thais.  Within,  at  my  house. 

Chrem.  Ha!  {With  concern.) 

Thais.  Be  not  alarm’d: 

She  has  been  well  brought  up,  and  in  a manner 
Worthy  herself  and  you. 

Chrem.  Indeed? 

Thais.  Tis  true: 

And  now  most  freely  I restore  her  to  yon, 

Demanding  nothing  of  you  in  return. 

Chrem.  I feel  your  goodness,  Thais,  and  shall  ever 
Remain  much  bounden  to  you. 

Thais.  Aye,  but  now 

Take  heed,  my  Chremes,  lest  ere  you  receive 
The  maid  from  me,  you  lose  her!  for  ’tis  she. 

Whom  now  the  Captain  comes  to  take  by  storm. 

— Pythias,  go,  fetch  the  casket  with  the  proofs ! 

Chrem.  D’ye  see  him,  Thais?  {Looking  out.^ 

Pyth.  Where’s  the  casket  plac’d? 

Thais.  Plac’d  in  the  cabinet. — D’ye  loiter,  hussy? 

{Exit  Pythias. 

Chrem.  What  force  the  Captain  brings  with  him  against 
you ! 

Good  Heav’n ! 

Thais.  Are  you  afraid,  young  gentleman? 

Chrem.  Away  ! — who  ? I ? afraid  ? — There  is  no  man 
Alive  less  so. 

Thais.  You’d  need  be  stout  at  present. 

Chrem.  What  kind  of  man  d’ye  take  me  for? 

Thais.  Consider, 

He,  whom  you’ve  now  to  cope  with,  is  a stranger 
Less  powerful  than  you,  less  known,  and  less 
Befriended  here  than  you! 

Chrem.  I know  all  that: 

But  why,  like  fools,  admit  what  we  may  shun? 

Better  prevent  a wrong,  than  afterward 

Revenge  it,  when  receiv’d ^Do  you  step  in, 

And  bolt  the  door,  while  I run  to  the  Forum, 

And  call  some  officers  to  our  assistance.  {Going.') 

Thais.  Stay!  {Holding  him.) 

Chrem.  ’Twill  be  better. 

Thais.  Hold ! 

Chrem.  Nay,  let  me  go! 

I’ll  soon  be  back. 

Thais.  We  do  not  want  them,  Chremes. 

Say,  only,  that  this  maiden  is  your  sister, 

And  that  you  lost  her  when  a child,  and  now 
Know  her  again  for  yours. 


Sc.  VIII.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


437 


Enter  Pythias. 

Thais  {to  Pytii.)  Produce  the  proofs! 

Pytii.  Here  they  are. 

Thais.  Take  them,  Chremes! — If  the  Captain 
Attempts  to  do  you  any  violence, 

Lead  him  before  a magistrate.  D’ye  mark  me? 

Chrem.  I do. 

Thais.  Be  sure  now  speak  with  a good  courage  ! 

Chrem.  I will. 

Thais.  Come,  gatlier  up  your  cloak. Undone ! 

I’ve  got  a champion,  who  wants  help  himself.  {^Exeunt. 

Scene  Ylli. 

Enter  Tiiraso,  Gnatho,  Sanga,  etc. 

Tiiraso.  Shall  I put  up  with  an  affront  so  gross. 

So  monstrous,  Gnatho  ? — No,  I’d  rather  die. 

Simalio,  Donax,  Syrus,  follow  me  ! 

First,  I will  storm  their  castle. 

Gnat.  Excellent ! 

Tiira.  Next  carry  off  the  Virgin. 

Gnat.  Admirable ! 

Thra.  Then  punish  Thais  herself. 

Gnat.  Incomparable ! 

Thra.  Here,  in  the  centre,  Donax,  with  your  club ! 

Do  you,  Simalio,  charge  on  the  left  wing! 

You,  Syrus,  on  the  right ! — Bring  up  the  rest ! 

Where’s  the  Centurion  Sanga,  and  his  band 
Of  rascal  runaways? 

San.  Here,  Sir  I 
Thra.  How  now  ? 

Think’st  thou  to  combat  with  a dish-clout,  slave ! 

That  thus  thou  bring’st  it  here  ? 

San.  Ah,  Sir ! I knew 
The  valor  of  the  gen’ral  and  his  troops ; 

And  seeing  this  affair  must  end  in  blood, 

I brought  a clout,  to  wipe  the  wounds  withal. 

Thra.  Where  are  the  rest? 

San.  Best ! Plague,  whom  d’ye  mean  ? 

There’s  nobody,  but  Sannio,  left  at  home, 
f Thra.  Lead  you  the  van  (to  Gnatho)  ; and  I’ll  bring  up 
y the  rear : 

/Thence  give  the  word  to  all. 
t Gnat.  What  wisdom  is ! 

Now  he  has  drawn  up  these  in  rank  and  file. 

His  post  behind  secures  him  a retreat. 

Thra.  Just  so  his  line  of  battle  Pyrrhus  form’d. 

(Chremes  and  Thais  appear  above  at  a window.') 

Chrem.  D’ye  see,  my  Thais,  what  he  is  about  ? 

To  bar  and  bolt  the  doors  was  good  advice. 


438 


THE  EUNUCH.  [Act  IV.,  Sc.  VIJI 

Thais.  Tut,  man!  yon  fool,  that  seems  so  mighty  brave, 

Is  a mere  coward.  Do  not  be  afraid ! 

Thra.  What  were  best?  (7b  Gnatho.) 

Gnat.  Troth,  I wish  you  had  a sling: 

That  you  from  far  in  ambush  might  attack  them! 

They’d  soon  fly  then,  I warrant  you. 

Thra.  But  see ! 

Thais  appears.* 

Gnat.  Let’s  charge  them  then!  Come  on! 

Thra.  Halt ! — ’Tis  the  part  of  a wise  general 
To  try  all  methods,  ere  he  come  to  arms. 

How  do  you  know,  but  Thais  may  obey 
My  orders  without  force  ? 

Gnat.  Oh,  gracious  Heavens ! 

Of  what  advantage  is  it  to  be  wise ! 

I ne’er  approach  but  I go  wiser  from  you. 

Thra.  Thais,  first  answer  this ! Did  you,  or  no. 

When  I presented  you  the  Virgin,  promise. 

To  give  yourself  some  days  to  me  alone  ? 

Thais.  What  then? 

Thra.  Is  that  a question,  when  you  durst 
To  bring  a rival  to  my  face  ? 

Thais.  And  what 
Business  have  you  with  him  ? 

Thra.  And  then  stole  off 

In  company  with  him  ? 

Thais.  It  was  my  pleasure. 

Thra.  Therefore,  restore  my  Pamphila ; unless 
You  choose  to  see  her  carried  off  by  force. 

Chrem.  She  restore  Pamphila  to  you?  Or  you 
Attempt  to  touch  her,  rascal  ? 

Gnat.  Ah,  beware ! 

Peace,  peace,  young  gentleman! 

Thra.  {to  Chrem.)  What  is’t  you  mean  ? 

Shall  I not  touch  my  own  ? 

Chrem.  Your  own,  you  scoundrel? 

Gnat.  Take  heed ! you  know  not  whom  you  rail  at  thus. 
Chrem.  Won’t  you  be  gone?  — here,  hark  ye,  Sir!  d’ye 
know 

How  matters  stand  with  you? — if  you  attempt 
To  raise  a riot  in  this  place  to-day. 

I’ll  answer  for  it,  that  you  shall  remember 
This  place,  to-day,  and  me,  your  whole  life-long. 

Gnat.  I pity  you : to  make  so  great  a man 
Your  enemy ! 

Chrem.  Hence ! or  I’ll  break  your  head. 

Gnat.  How’s  that,  you  hang-dog  ? Are  you  for  that  sport  ? 
Thra.  Who  are  you,  fellow  ? — what  d’ye  mean  ? — and  what 
Have  you  to  do  with  Pamphila? 

Chrem.  I’ll  tell  you. 

First,  I declare,  that  she’s  a free-born  woman ! 


Act  V.,  Sc.  L] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


439 


Thra.  How  ? 

Chrem.  And  a citizen  of  Athens. 

Thra.  Hui ! 

Chrem.  My  sister. 

Thra.  Impudence! 

Chrem.  So,  Captain,  now 
I give  you  warning,  offer  her  no  force ! 

— ^Thais,  I’ll  now  to  Sophrona,  the  Nurse, 

And  bring  her  here  with  me  to  see  the  proofs. 

Thra.  And  you  prohibit  me  to  touch  my  own? 

Chrem.  Yes,  I prohibit  you. 

Gnat.  D’ye  hear  ? he  owns 
The  robbery  himself.  Isn’t  that  sufficient? 

Thra.  And,  Thais,  you  maintain  the  same? 

Thais.  Ask  those 

Who  care  to  answer.  (Shuts  down  the  window.) 

Manent  Thraso  and  Gnatho,  etc. 

Thra.  What  shall  we  do  now? 

Gnat.  Why — e’en  go  back  again! — This  harlot  here 
Will  soon  be  with  you  to  request  forgiveness. 

Thra.  D’ye  think  so  ? 

Gnat.  Aye,  most  certainly.  I know 
The  ways  of  women. — When  you  will,  they  won’t ; 

And  when  you  won’t,  they’re  dying  for  you* 

Thra.  True. 

Gnat.  Shall  I disband  the  army  ? 

Thra.  When  you  will. 

Gnat.  Sanga,  as  well  becomes  a brave  militia. 

Take  to  your  houses  and  firesides  again. 

San.  My  mind  was  like  a sop  i’  th’  pan,  long  since. 

Gnat.  Good  fellow! 

San.  To  the  right  about  there ! march ! 

(Exit^  with  Gnatho  and  Thraso  at  the  head  of  the  troops. 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 

Scene  I. 

Thais  and  Pythias. 

Thais.  Still,  still,  you,  baggage,  will  you  shuffle  with  me  ? 
— “I  know — I don’t  know — he’s  gone  off — I’ve  heard — 

“ I was  not  present” — Be  it  what  it  may. 

Can’t  you  inform  me  openly  ? — The  Virgin, 

Her  clothes  all  torn,  in  sullen  silence  weeps. 

The  Eunuch’s  fled. — What  means  all  this?  and  what 
Has  happen’d? — Won’t  you  answer  me? 


440 


THE  EUNUCH. 


[Act  % 


Ptth.  Alas! 

What  can  I answer  you? — lie  was,  they  say, 

No  Eunuch. 

Thais.  What  then? 

Pyth.  Choerea. 

Thais.  Chaerea! 

What  Chaerea  ? 

Pyth.  Phaedria’s  younger  brother. 

Thais.  How  I 
What’s  that,  hag? 

Pyth.  I’ve  discover’d  it:  I’m  sure  on’t. 

Thais.  Why,  what  had  he  to  do  with  us"?  or  why 
Was  he  brought  hither? 

Pyth.  That  I can  not  tell; 

Unless,  as  I su23pose,  for  love  of  Pamphila. 

Thais.  Alas!  I am  undone;  undone,  indeed. 

If  that,  which  you  have  told  me  now,  lie  true. 

Is ’t  that  the  girl  bemoans  thus? 

Pyth.  I believe  so. 

Thais.  How,  careless  wretch  ! was  that  the  charge  I gave  you 
At  my  departure? 

Pyth.  What  could  I do?  She 
Was  trusted,  as  you  bade,  to  him  alone. 

Thais.  Oh,  jade,  you  set  the  wolf  to  keep  the  sheep. 

— I’m  quite  asham’d  to ’ve  been  so  poorly  bubbled. 

Pyth.  Who  comes  here? — Hist!  peace,  madam,  I beseech 
you ! 

We’re  safe:  we  have  the  very  man. 

{^Seeing  Chorea  at  a distance,^ 

Thais.  Where  is  he? 

Pyth.  Here,  on  the  left;  d’ye  see  him,  ma’am? 

Thais.  I see  him. 

Pyth.  Let  him  be  seiz’d  immediately! 

Thais.  And  what 
Can  we  do  to  him,  fool? 

Pyth.  Do  to  him,  say  you? 

— See,  w^hat  a saucy  face  the  rogue  has  got ! 

Ila’nt  he? — and  then  how  settled  an  assurance'. 

Scene  II. 

Enter  Chorea. 

CiEER.  At  Aiitipho’s,  as  if  for  spite,  there  wer^ 

His  father  and  his  mother  both  at  home. 

So  that  I could  by  no  means  enter,  but 
...They  must  have  seen  me.  Meanwhile,  as  I stood 
Before  the  door,  came  by  an  old  acquaintance, 

At  sight  of  whom  I flew,  with  all  my  speed. 

Into  a narrow,  unfrequented  alley; 

And  thence  into  another,  and  another, 

Frighten’d  and  flurried  as  I scampered  on. 


So.  II.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


441 


Lest  any  one  should  know  me. — But  is  that 
Thais?  ’Tis  she  herself.  I’m  all  aground. 

What  shall  I do? — Pshaw!  what  have  I to  care? 
What  can  she  do  to  me? 

Thais.  Let’s  up  to  him. 

Oh,  Dorus!  good  Sir,  welcome! — And  so.  Sirrah, 
You  ran  away. 

Ch^r.  Yes,  madam! 

Thais.  And  you  think 
It  was  a clever  trick? 

Ch^er.  No,  madam! 

Thais.  Can  you 

Believe  that  you  shall  go  unpunish’d  for  it  ? 

Ch^r.  Forgive  me  this  one  fault!  If  I commit 
Another,  kill  me! 

Thais.  Do  you  dread  my  cruelty? 

Cii^R.  No,  ma’am! 

Thais.  What  then? 

Ch^r.  I was  afraid,  lest  She 
Accuse  me  to  you.  (^Pointing  to  Pythias.) 

Thais.  Upon  what  account? 

CHiER.  A little  matter. 

Pyth.  Rogue!  a little  matter? 

Is  it  so  little,  think  you,  to  abuse 
A virgin,  and  a citizen ! 

CiiiER.  I thought 
She  was  my  fellow-servant. 

Pyth.  Fellow-servant ! 

I can  scarce  hold  from  flying  at  his  hair. 

Monstrous!  he’s  come  to  make  his  sport  of  us. 
Thais.  Away!  you  rave. 

Pyth.  Why  so  ? if  I had  done ’t, 

I should  have  still  been  in  the  monster’s  debt; 
Particularly,  as  he  owns  himself 
Your  servant. 

Thais.  Well — no  more  of  this. — Oh,  Chaerea, 
You’ve  done  a deed  unworthy  of  yourself; 

For  granting  I,  perhaps,  might  well  deserve 
This  injury,  it  was  not  honorable 
In  you  to  do  it. — As  I live,  I know  not 
What  counsel  to  pursue  about  this  girl ; 

You’ve  so  destroy’d  my  measures,  that  I can’t 
Restore  her,  without  blushing  to  her  friends. 

Nor  so  deliver  her,  as  I propos’d. 

To  make  them  thank  me  for  my  kindness,  Chaerea ! 

CHiER.  Henceforth,  I hope,  eternal  peace  shall  be 
Betwixt  us,  Thais ! Oft  from  things  like  these, 

And  bad  beginnings,  warmest  friendships  rise. 

What  if  some  God  hath  order’d  this? 

Thais.  Indeed, 

I’ll  so  interpret  it,  and  wish  it  so. 

T 2 


442 


THE  EU^^UCH. 


[Aot  V. 


Ch^r.  I prithee  do! — and  be  assured  of  this, 

That  naught  I did  in  scorn,  but  all  in  love. 

Thais.  I do  believe  it;  and,  on  that  account, 

More  readily  forgive  you : for  oh ! Chaerea, 

I am  not  form’d  of  an  ungentle  nature. 

Nor  am  I now  to  learn  the  pow’r  of  love. 

Ch^r.  Now,  Thais,  by  my  life,  I love  thee  too. 

Pyth.  Then,  by  my  troth,  you  must  take  care  of  him. 

Ch^r.  I durst  not 

Pyth.  I don’t  mind  a word  you  say. 

Thais.  Have  done! 

Ch^r.  But  now,  in  this  one  circumstance. 

Let  me  beseech  you  to  assist  me!  I 
Commit  myself  entirely  to  your  care : 

Invoke  you,  as  my  patroness;  implore  you. 

Perdition  seize  me,  but  I’ll  marry  her! 

Thais.  But  if  your  father 

Ch^er.  What  of  him  ? I know 
He’ll  soon  consent,  provided  it  appears 
That  she’s  a citizen. 

Thais.  If  you  will  wait 
A little  while,  her  brother  will  be  here : 

He’s  gone  to  fetch  the  nurse  that  brought  her  up; 

And  you  shall  witness  the  discovery. 

CniER.  I will  remain  then. 

Thais.  But,  in  the  mean  time. 

Had  you  not  rather  wait  within,  than  here 
Before  the  door? 

Ch^r.  Much  rather. 

Pyth.  What  the  plague 
Are  you  about? 

Thais.  What  now? 

Pyth.  What  now,  indeed? 

Will  you  let  him  within  your  doors  again? 

Thais.  Why  not? 

Pyth.  Remember  that  I prophesy. 

He’ll  make  some  fresh  disturbance. 

Thais.  Prithee,  peace! 

Pyth.  It  seems,  you  have  not  had  sufficient  proof 
Of  his  assurance. 

Ch^r.  I’ll  do  no  harm,  Pythias! 

Pyth.  I’ll  not  believe  it,  Chasrea,  till  I see  it. 

Ch^r.  But  you  shall  keep  me,  Pythias ! 

Pyth.  No,  not  I. 

For,  by  my  troth,  I would  trust  nothing  with  you. 
Neither  to  keep,  nor  be  kept  by  you. — Hence! 

Away ! 

Thais.  Oh  brave ! the  brother’s  here ! {Looking  out.) 
CHiER.  Confusion! 

Let’s  in,  dear  Thais ! I’d  not  have  him  see  me 
Here  in  this  dress. 


IV.J 


THE  EUNUCH. 


443 


Thais.  Why  so?  Are  you  asham’d? 

Cii^R.  I am  indeed. 

Pyth.  Indeed!  asham’d!  oh  dear! 

Think  of  the  girl! 

Thais.  Go  in!  I’ll  follow  you. 

Pythias,  do  you  stay  here  to  bring  in  Chremes. 

{Exeunt  Thais  and  Chorea. 

Scene  III. 

Pythias,  Chremes,  Sophrona. 

Pyth.  What  can  I think  of?  what  can  I devise? 

Some  trick  now  to  be  even  with  that  rogue 
Who  palm’d  this  young  spark  on  us. 

Chrem.  {leading  the  nurse).  Nay,  but  stir 
Your  stumps  a little  faster,  nurse ! 

Soph.  I come. 

Chrem.  Aye,  marry ; but  you  don’t  come  on  a jot. 

Pyth.  Well!  have  you  shown  the  tokens  to  the  nurse? 
Chrem.  I have. 

Pyth.  And  pray  what  says  she  ? Did  she  know  them  ? 
Chrem.  At  first  sight. 

Pyth.  Oh  brave  news ! I’m  glad  to  hear  it  ; 

For  I’ve  a kindness  for  the  girl.  Go  in ; 

My  mistress  is  impatient  for  your  coming. 

{Exeunt  Chremes  and  Sophrowa. 
See,  yonder’s  my  good  master  Parmeno, 

Marching  this  way : How  unconcern’d,  forsooth. 

He  stalks  along! — But  I’ve  devis’d,  I hope. 

The  means  to  vex  him  sorely. — First  I’ll  in. 

To  know  the  truth  of  this  discovery. 

And  then  return  to  terrify  this  rascal.  {ExiU 

Scene  IV. 

Enter  Parmeno. 

Par.  I’m  come  to  see  what  Chgevea  has  been  doing; 
Who,  if  he  has  but  manag’d  matters  well. 

Good  Heav’ns,  how  much,  and  what  sincere  applause 
Shall  Parmeno  acquire ! — For  not  to  mention, 

In  an  intrigue  so  difficult  as  this. 

Of  so  much  probable  expense  at  least. 

Since  with  a griping  harlot  he’d  have  bargain’d, 

That  I’ve  procur’d  for  him  the  girl  he  lov’d. 

Without  cost,  charge,  or  trouble  ; t’other  point. 

That,  that  I hold  my  master-piece,  there  think 
I’ve  gain’d  the  prize,  in  showing  a young  spark 
The  dispositions  and  the  ways  of  harlots : 

Which  having  early  learn’d,  he’ll  ever  shun. 

{Enter  Pythias  behind.') 


444 


THE  EUNUCH. 


[Act  V. 


When  they’re  abroad,  forsooth,  there’s  none  so  clean. 
Nothing  so  trim,  so  elegant,  as  they; 

Nor,  when  they  sup  with  a gallant,  so  nice! 

To  see  these  very  creatures’  gluttony. 

Filth,  poverty,  and  meanness,  when  at  home ; 

So  eager  after  food,  that  they  devour 

From  yesterday’s  stale  broth  the  coarse  black  bread : — 

All  this  to  know  is  safety  to  young  men. 

Scene  V. 

Pythias,  Parmeno. 

Pyth.  (behind).  ’Faith,  Sirrah,  I’ll  be  handsomely  revenged 
For  all  you’ve  done  and  said.  You  shall  not  boast 
Your  tricks  on  us  without  due  punishment. 

(Aloud ^ coming  fortuard.) 

Oh  Heav’ns!  oh  dreadful  deed!  oh  hapless  youth! 

Oh  wicked  Parmeno,  that  brought  him  here ! 

Par.  What  now  ? 

Pyth.  It  mov’d  me  so,  I could  not  bear 
To  see  it : therefore  I flew  out  o’  doors. 

What  an  example  will  they  make  of  him! 

Par.  Oh  Jupiter!  What  tumult  can  this  be? 

Am  I undone,  or  no? — I’ll  e’en  inquire. 

Pythias!  {going  zip.)  What  now?  what  is’t  3^011  rave  about? 
Who’s  to  be  made  this  terrible  example? 

Pyth.  Who?  most  audacious  monster!  while  you  meant 
To  play  your  tricks  on  us,  you  have  destroyed 
The  youth  whom  you  brought  hither  for  the  Eunuch. 

Par.  How  so?  and  what  has  happen’d?  Prithee  tell  me! 
Pyth.  Tell  you  ? D’ye  know  the  virgin,  that  was  sent 
To-day  to  Thais,  is  a citizen  ? 

Her  brother  too  a man  of  the  first  rank  ? 

Par.  I did  not  know  it. 

Pyth.  Aye,  but  so  it  seems. 

The  poor  young  spark  abus’d  the  girl;  a thing 

No  sooner  known,  than  he,  the  furious  brother 

Par.  Did  what? 

Pyth.  First  bound  him  hand  and  foot 

Par.  How!  bound  him! 

Pyth.  And  now,  though  Thais  begged  him  not  to  do  it — 
Par.  How!  what! 

Pyth.  Moreover  threatens,  he  will  serve  him 
After  the  manner  of  adulterers; 

A thing  I ne’er  saw  done,  and  ne’er  desire. 

Par.  How  durst  he  ofler  at  an  act  so  monstrous  ? 

Pyth.  And  why  so  monstrous  ? 

Par.  Is  it  not  most  monstrous? 

Who  ever  saw  a young  man  seiz’d  and  bound 
For  rapes  and  lewdness,  in  a house  of  harlots? 


Sc.  VI.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


445 


Pytii.  I don’t  know. 

Par.  Aye;  but  you  must  all  know  this. 

I tell  you,  and  foretell  you,  that  young  spark 
Is  my  old  master’s  son. 

Pytii.  Indeed,  is  he  ? 

Par.  And  let  not  Thais  suffer  any  one 
To  do  him  violence ! — But  why  don’t  I 
Kush  in  myself? 

Pyth.  Ah!  take  care,  Parmeno, 

What  you’re  about ; lest  you  do  him  no  good. 

And  hurt  yourself : for  they  imagine  you, 

Whatever  has  been  done,  the  cause  of  all. 

Par.  What  shall  I do  then,  wretch?  what  undertake? 

— Oh ! yonder’s  my  old  master,  just  return’d 
To  town.  Shall  I tell  him,  or  no? — I’  faith 
I’ll  tell  him,  though  I am  well  convinc’d  it  will 
Bring  me  into  a scrape ; a heavy  one : And  yet 
It  must  be  done  to  help  poor  Chierea. 

Pyth.  Eight. 

I’ll  in  again ; and  you,  in  the  mean  while, 

Tell  the  old  gentleman  the  whole  affair.  (Exit, 

Scene  VI. 

Enter  Laches. 

Laches.  I’ve  this  convenience  from  my  neighb’ring  villa; 
I’m  never  tir’d  of  country  or  of  town. 

For  as  disgust  comes  on,  I change  my  place. 

— But  is  not  that  our  Parmeno  ? ’Tis  he 
For  certain. — Whom  d’ye  wait  for,  Parmeno, 

Before  that  door? 

Par.  Who’s  that  ? Oh,  Sir ! you’re  welcome  : 

I’m  glad  to  see  you  safe  return’d  to  town. 

Laches.  Whom  do  you  wait  for? 

Par.  I’m  undone  : my  tongue 
Cleaves  to  my  mouth  through  fear. 

Laches.  Ha  I what’s  the  matter  ? 

Why  do  you  tremble  so?  Is  all  right?  Speak! 

Par.  First,  Sir,  I’d  have  you  think,  for  so  it  is, 

Whatever  has  befall’n  has  not  befall’n 
Through  any  fault  of  mine. 

Laches.  What  is’t? 

Par.  That’s  true. 

Your  pardon.  Sir,  I should  have  told  that  first. 

— Phaidria,  Sir,  bought  a certain  Eunuch,  as 
A present  to  send  her. 

Laches.  Her ! — Her  I whom  ? 

Par.  Thais. 

Laches.  Bought  ? I’m  undone  ! at  what  price  ? 

Par.  Twenty  Mime. 


44G 


THE  EUNUCH. 


[Act  V. 


Laches.  I’m  ruin’d. 

Par.  And  then  Chgerea’s  fall’n  in  love 
With  a young  music-girl. 

Laches.  How!  what!  in  love! 

Knows  he  already  what  a harlot  is? 

Has  he  stol’n  into  town  ? More  plagues  on  plagues. 

Par.  Nay,  Sir ! don’t  look  on  me ! it  was  not  done 
By  my  advice. 

Laches.  Leave  prating  of  yourself. 

As  for  you,  rascal,  if  I live But  first 

Whatever  has  befallen,  tell  me,  quick ! 

Par.  Chaerea  was  carried  thither  for  the  Eunuch. 
Laches.  He  for  the  Eunuch ! 

Par.  Yes : since  when,  within 
They’ve  seiz’d  and  bound  him  for  a ravisher. 

Laches.  Confusion  ! 

Par.  See  the  impudence  of  harlots ! 

Laches.  Is  there  aught  else  of  evil  or  misfortune 
You  have  not  told  me  yet? 

Par.  You  know  the  whole. 

Laches.  Then  why  do  I delay  to  rush  in  on  them  ? (^ExiU 
Par.  There  is  no  doubt  but  I shall  smart  for  this. 

But  since  I was  oblig’d  to ’t,  I rejoice 
That  I shall  make  these  strumpets  suffer  too : 

For  our  old  gentleman  has  long  desir’d 

Some  cause  to  punish  them;  and  now  he  has  it. 

Scene  VII. 

Enter  Pythias  ; Parmeno  at  a distance. 

Pyth.  Well ! I was  ne’er  more  pleas’d  in  all  my  life 
Than  when  I saw  th’  old  man  come  blund’ring  in. 

I had  the  jest  alone ; for  I alone 
Knew  what  he  was  afraid  of. 

Par.  Hey!  what  now? 

Pyth.  I’m  now  come  forth  t’  encounter  Parmeno. 

Where  is  he? 

Par.  She  seeks  me. 

Pyth.  Oh,  there  he  is. 

I’ll  go  up  to  him. 

Par.  Well,  fool,  what’s  the  matter?  (Pythias  laughs.) 
What  would  you  ? what  d’ye  laugh  at  ? Hey ! what  still  ? 

Pyth.  Oh,  I shall  die : I’m  horribly  fatigu’d 
With  laughing  at  you.  [Laughing  heartily.) 

Par.  Why  so?  pray! 

Pyth.  Why  so  ? [Laughing.) 

I ne’er  saw,  ne’er  shall  see,  a greater  fool. 

Oh,  it’s  impossible  to  tell  what  sport 

You’ve  made  within. — I swear,  I always  thought 

That  you  liad  been  a shrewd,  sharp,  cunning  fellow. 


IX.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


447 


AVhat ! to  believe  directly  what  I told  you ! 

Or  was  you  prick’d  in  conscience  for  the  sin 

The  young  man  had  committed  through  your  means, 

That  you  must  after  tell  his  father  of  him  ? 

How  d’ye  suppose  he  felt  when  old  gray-beard 
Surpris’d  him  in  that  habit  ? — What ! you  find 
That  you’re  undone.  {Laughing  heartily.) 

Par.  What’s  this,  impertinence  ? 

Was  it  a lie  you  told  me?  D’ye  laugh  still? 

Is’t  such  a jest  to  make  fools  of  us,  hag  ? 

Pyth.  Delightful ! (^Laughing.) 

Par.  If  you  don’t  pay  dearly  for  it  

Pyth.  Perhaps  so.  {Laughing.) 

Par.  I’ll  return  it. 

Pyth.  Oh,  no  doubt  on’t.  {Laughing.) 

But  what  you  threaten,  Parmeno,  is  distant : 

You’ll  be  truss’d  up  to-day;  who  first  draw  in 
A raw  young  man  to  sin,  and  then  betray  him. 

They’ll  both  conspire  to  make  you  an  example.  {Laughing.) 
Par.  I’m  done  for. 

Pyth.  Take  this,  slave,  as  a reward 
For  the  fine  gift  you  sent  us  ; so,  farewell ! {Exit  Pythias. 

Par.  I’ve  been  a fool  indeed ; and  like  a rat. 

Betray’d  myself  to-day  by  my  own  squeaking. 


Scene  YIII. 

Enter  Thraso,  Gnatho  ; Parmeno  behind. 

Gnat.  What  now?  in  what  hope,  or  with  what  design 
Advance  we  hither?  what  adventure,  Thraso? 

Thraso.  What  do  I mean  ? — To  Thais  to  surrender 
On  her  own  terms  ? 

Gnat.  Indeed  ? 

Thraso.  Indeed  I why  not. 

As  well  as  Hercules  to  Omphale  ? 

Gnat.  A fit  example. — AVould  I might  behold 
Your  head  broke  with  her  slipper.  {Aside.)  But  her  doors 
Creak,  and  fly  open. 

Thraso.  ’Sdeath  ! what  mischief  now  ? 

I ne’er  so  much  as  saw  this  face  before. 

Why  bursts  he  forth  with  such  alacrity  ? 

Scene  IX. 

Enter  Chorea  at  another  part  of  the  stage, 

Ch^r.  Lives  there,  my  countrymen,  a happier  man 
To-day  than  I? — Not  one. — For  on  my  head 
The  gods  have  plainly  emptied  all  their  store. 

On  whom  they’ve  pour’d  a flood  of  bliss  at  once. 


448 


THE  EUNUCH. 


[Act  V 


Par.  What’s  he  so  pleas’d  at  ? 

CiiiER.  {seeing  him.)  Oh  my  Parmeno 
Inventor,  undertaker,  perfecter 

Of  all  my  pleasures,  know’st  thou  my  good  fortunes? 
Know’st  thou  my  Pamphila’s  a citizen  ? 

Par.  I’ve  heard  so. 

Ch^r.  Know’st  thou  she’s  betroth’d  my  wife? 

Par.  Oh  brave,  by  Heav’n ! 

Gnat.  Hear  you  what  he  says  ? {To  Tiiraso.) 

Ch^r.  Then  I rejoice,  my  brother  Phaedria’s  love 
Is  quietly  secur’d  to  him  forever: 

We’re  now  one  family : and  Thais  has 
Pound  favor  with  my  father,  and  resign’d 
Herself  to  us  for  patronage  and  care. 

Par.  She’s  then  entirely  Phaedria’s ! 

Ch.er.  Aye,  entirely. 

Par.  Another  cause  of  joy : the  Captain  routed ! 

Ch^r.  See,  Parmeno,  my  brother  (wheresoe’er 
He  be)  know  this,  as  soon  as  possible  ! 

Par.  ril  see  if  he’s  at  home.  {Exit. 

Thraso.  Hast  any  doubt, 

Gnatho,  but  I’m  entirely  ruin’d? 

Gnat.  None  at  all. 

Ch^.r.  What  shall  I mention  first  ? whom  praise  the  most 
Him  that  advis’d  this  action  ? or  myself 
That  durst  to  undertake  it  ? — or  extol 
Fortune,  the  governess  of  all,  who  deign’d. 

Events  so  many,  of  such  moment  too. 

So  happily  to  close  within  one  day  ? 

Or  shall  I praise  my  father’s  frank  good-humor, 

And  gay  festivity? Oh,  Jupiter, 

Make  but  these  blessings  sure  ! 


Scene  X. 

Enter  Ph^edria. 

Ph^d.  O heavenly  powers  ! 

What  wondrous  things  has  Parmeno  just  told  me ! 

But  where’s  my  brother  ? 

Ch.er.  Here  he  is. 

Ph^d.  I’m  happy. 

Ch^r.  I dare  believe  you  are ; and  trust  me,  brother, 
Naught  can  be  worthier  of  your  love  than  Thais : 

Our  family  are  all  much  bounden  to  her. 

Ph^ed.  So  ! you’d  need  sing  her  praise  to  me ! 
Thraso.  Confusion ! 

As  my  hope  dies,  my  love  increases.  Gnatho 
Your  help ! my  expectation’s  all  in  you. 

Gnat.  What  would  you  have  me  do  ? 

Thraso.  Accomplish  this  ; 


Sc.  X.] 


THE  EUNUCH. 


449 


By  pmy’r,  by  purchase,  that  I still  may  have 
Some  little  share  in  Thais. 

Gnat.  A hard  task ! 

Tiiraso.  Do  but  incline  to  do’t,  you  can,  I knov 
Effect  it,  and  demand  whatever  gift, 

Whate’er  reward  you  please,  it  shall  be  yours. 

Gnat.  Indeed? 

TfiRASo.  Indeed! 

Gnat.  If  I accomplish  this, 

I claim,  that  you  agree  to  throw  your  doors,  ' 

Present  or  absent,  always  open  to  me ; 

A welcome,  uninvited  guest  forever. 

Thraso.  I pawn  my  honor  as  the  pledge. 

Gnat.  I’ll  try. 

Pn^D.  What  voice  is  that  ? Oh,  Thraso  I 
Thraso.  Gentlemen, 

Good-day  ! 

Ph^d.  Perhaps  you’re  not  acquainted  yet 
With  what  has  happen’d  here  ? 

Thraso.  I am. 

PHiED.  Why  then 

Do  I behold  you  in  these  territories? 

Tiiraso.  Depending  on 

PhtED.  Depend  on  naught  but  this! 

Captain,  I give  you  warning,  if,  henceforth, 

I ever  find  you  in  this  street,  although 
You  tell  me,  “/  icas  looldmj  for  another, 

1 loas  hut  passing  through^  expect  no  quarter. 

Gnat.  Oh  fie ! that  is  not  handsome. 

Phjed.  I have  said  it. 

Gnat.  Y^ou  can  not  be  so  rude. 

PiRED.  It  shall  be  so. 

Gnat.  First  grant  me  a short  hearing : if  you  like 
What  I propose,  agree  to’t. 

Pii.ED.  Let  us  hear! 

Gnat.  Do  you  retire  a moment,  Thraso ! (Thraso  retires.) 
First, 

I must  beseech  you  both,  most  firmly  think. 

That  I,  whate’er  I do  in  this  affair. 

For  my  own  sake  I do  it : but  if  that 
Likewise  advantage  you,  not  to  agree 
In  you  were  folly. 

Phu^d.  What  is’t  3^011  propose  ? 

Gnat.  I think  3^011  should  admit  the  Captain,  as 
Y^our  rival. 

PiiiED.  How  ? admit  him  ? 

Gnat.  Na3"  consider! 

Phsedria,  vou  live  at  a high  rate  with  her. 

Revel,  and  feast,  and  stick  at  no  expense. 

Yet  what  you  give’s  but  little,  and  3^ou  know 
’Tis  needful  Thais  should  receive  much  more. 


450 


THE  EUNUCH. 


[Act  V.,  Sc.  X. 


Now  to  supply  your  love  without  your  cost, 

A fitter  person,  one  more  form’d,  can’t  be 
Than  Thraso  is : first,  he  has  wherewithal 
To  give,  and  gives  most  largely : a fool  too, 

A dolt,  a block,  that  snores  out  night  and  day  ; 

Nor  can  you  fear  she’ll  e’er  grow  fond  of  him ; 

And  you  may  drive  him  hence  whene’er  you  please. 

Ph^ed.  What  shall  we  do  ? {To  Chorea.) 

Gnat.  Moreover  this  ; the  which 
i hold  no  trifle,  no  man  entertains 
More  nobly  or  more  freely. 

Phjed.  I begin 

To  think  we’ve  need  of  such  a fool. 

Chasr.  And  I. 

Gnat.  Well  judg’d ! and  let  me  beg  one  favor  more ; 
Admit  me  of  your  family  I — I have 
Roll’d  this  stone  long  enough. 

Ph^d.  We  do  admit  yon. 

Ch^r.  With  all  our  hearts. 

Gnat.  And  you.  Sirs,  in  return. 

Shall  pledge  me  in  the  Captain ; eat  him ; drink  him ; 

And  laugh  at  him. 

CiiiER.  A bargain! 

Ph^ed.  ’Tis  his  due. 

Gnat.  Thraso,  whene’er  you  please,  approach ! 

Thraso.  Pray  now. 

How  stands  the  case  ? 

Gnat.  Alas  ! they  knew  you  not ! 

But  when  I drew  your  character,  and  prais’d 
Your  worth,  according  to  your  deeds  and  virtues, 

I gain’d  my  point. 

Thraso.  ’Tis  well:  Pm  much  oblig’d; 

I ne’er  was  any  where,  in  all  my  life, 

But  all  folks  lov’d  me  dearly. 

Gnat.  Did  not  I 

Cay  he  had  all  the  Attic  elegance  ? 
pH.ffiD.  He  is  the  very  character  you  drew. 

Gnat.  Retire  then. — Ye,  (to  the  audience^  farewell,  and  clap 
your  hands ! 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Prologue. 

Menedemus. 

Chremes. 

Clinia. 

Clitipho. 

Syrus. 

Dromo. 


SOSTRATA. 

Antiphila. 

Bacchis. 

Nurse. 

Phrygia,  and  other  servants 


of  Bacchis. 


Scene,  a Village  near  Athens. 


PROLOGUE. 


Lest  any  of  you  wonder,  why  the  Bard 
To  an  old  actor  hath  assign’d  the  part 
Sustain’d  of  old  by  young  performers;  that 
ril  first  explain : then  say  what  brings 
To-day,  a whole  play,  wholly  from  the  Greek, 

We  mean  to  represent : — The  Self-Tormentor : 
Wrought  from  a single  to  a double  plot. 

Now  therefore  that  our  comedy  is  new. 

And  what  it  is,  I’ve  shown ; who  wrote  it  too. 
And  whose  in  Greek  it  is,  were  I not  sure 
Most  of  you  knew  already,  would  I tell. 

But,  wherefore  I have  ta’eii  this  part  upon  me. 
In  brief  I will  deliver:  for  the  Bard 
Has  sent  me  here  as  pleader,  not  as  Prologue ; 
You  he  declares  his  judges,  me  his  counsel : 

And  yet  as  counsel  nothing  can  I speak 
More  than  the  Author  teaches  me  to  say. 

Who  wrote  th’  oration  which  I now  recite. 

As  to  reports,  which  envious  men  have  spread, 
That  he  has  ransack’d  many  Grecian  plays. 
While  he  composes  some  few  Latin  ones, 

That  he  denies  not,  he  has  done ; nor  does 
Repent  he  did  it ; means  to  do  it  still ; 

Safe  in  the  warrant  and  authority 
Of  greater  bards,  who  did  long  since  the  same. 
Then  for  the  charge,  that  his  arch-enemy 
Maliciously  reproaches  him  withal. 


452 


PROLOGUE. 


[Act  1, 


That  he  but  lately  hath  applied  himself 
To  music,  with  the  genius  of  his  friends, 

Rather  than  natural  talents,  fraught ; how  true. 
Your  judgment,  your  opinion,  must  decide. 

I would  entreat  you,  therefore,  not  to  lean 
To  tales  of  slander,  rather  than  of  candor. 

Be  favorable ; nurse  with  growing  hopes 
The  bards,  who  give  you  pleasing  novelties ; 
Pleasing  I say,  not  such  as  His  I mean, 

Who  lately  introduc’d  a breathless  slave. 

Making  the  crowd  give  way— But  wherefore  trace 
A dunce’s  faults  ? which  shall  be  shown  at  large, 
When  more  he  writes,  unless  he  cease  to  rail. 

Attend  impartially!  and  let  me  once 
Without  annoyance  act  an  easy  part; 

Lest  your  old  servant  be  o’er-labor’d  still 
With  toilsome  characters,  the  running  slave. 

The  eating  parasite,  enrag’d  old  man. 

The  bold-fac’d  sharper,  covetous  procurer;^ 

Parts,  that  ask  pow’rs  of  voice,  and  iron  sides. 
Deign  then,  for  my  sake,  to  accept  this  plea. 

And  grant  me  some  remission  from  my  labor. 

For  they,  who  now  produce  new  comedies,  ^ 

Spare  not  my  age ! If  there  is  aught  laborious, 
They  run  to  me ; but  if  of  little  weight. 

Away  to  others.  In  our  piece  to-day 
The  style  is  pure : now  try  my  talents  then 
In  either  character.  If  I for  gain, 

Never  o’er-rated  my  abilities ; 

If  I have  held  it  still  my  chief  reward 
To  be  subservient  to  your  pleasure ; fix 
In  me  a fair  example,  that  our  youth 
May  seek  to  please  you,  rather  than  themselves. 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 

Scene  I. 

Chremes,  Menedemus. 

Chrem.  Though  our  acquaintance  is  as  yet  but  young. 
Since  you  have  bought  this  farm  that  neighbors  mine. 
And  little  other  commerce  is  betwixt  us ; 

Yet  or  your  virtue,  or  good  neighborhood, 

(Which ‘is  in  my  opinion  kin  to  friendship,) 

Urge  me  to  tell  you,  fairly,  openly. 

That  you  appear  to  me  to  labor  more 
Than  your  age  warrants,  or  aftairs  require. 


. Sc.  I.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


453 


Now,  in  the  name  of  heav’ii  and  earth,  what  is’t 
You  want  ? what  seek  you  ? Threescore  years  of  age, 

Or  older,  as  I guess;  with  an  estate. 

Better  than  which,  more'  profitable,  none 
In  these  parts  hold ; master  of  many  slaves  ; 

As  if  you  had  not  one  at  your  command. 

You  labor  in  their  offices  yourself. 

I ne’er  go  out  so  soon  at  morn,  return 
So  late  at  eve,  but  in  your  grounds  I see  you 
Dig,  plow,  or  fetch  and  carry : in  a word,  * 

You  ne’er  remit  your  toil,  nor  spare  yourself. 

This,  I am  certain,  is  not  done  for  pleasure. 

' — You’ll  say,  perhaps,  it  vexes  you  to  see 
Your  W'ork  go  on  so  slowly ; — do  but  give 
The  time  you  spend  in  laboring  yourself 
To  set  your  slaves  to  work,  ’twill  profit  more. 

Mene.  Have  you  such  leisure  from  your  own  affairs 
To  think  of  those,  that  don’t  concern  you,  Chremes  ? 

Chrem.  I am  a man,  and  feel  for  all  mankind. 

Think,  I advise,  or  ask  for  information : 

If  right,  that  I may  do  the  same  ; if  wrong. 

To  turn  you  from  it. 

Mene.  I have  need  to  do  thus. 

Do  you  as  you  think  fit. 

Chrem.  Need  any  man 
Torment  himself? 

Mene.  I need. 

Chrem.  If  there’s  a cause, 

I’d  not  oppose  it.  But  what  evil’s  this  ? 

What  is  th’  offense  so  grievous  to  your  nature. 

That  asks  such  cruel  vengeance  on  yourself? 

Mene.  Alas  ! alas  ! (jn  tears.) 

Chrem.  Nay,  weep  not;  but  inform  me. 

Be  not  reserv’d  ; fear  nothing : prithee,  trust  me  : 

By  consolation,  counsel,  or  assistance, 
possibly  may  serve  you. 

Mene.  Would  you  know  it  ? 

Chrem.  Aye,  for  the  very  reason  I have  mention’d. 
Mene.  I will  inform  you. 

Chrem.  But  meanwhile  lay  down 
Those  rakes : don’t  tire  yourself. 

Mene.  It  must  not  be. 

Chrem.  What  mean  you? 

Mene.  Give  me  leave : that  I may  take 
No  respite  from  my  toil. 

Chrem.  I’ll  not  allow  it.  {Taking  aioay  the  rakes.) 
Mene.  Ah,  you  do  wrong. 

Chrem.  What,  and  so  heavy  too! 

{Weighing  them  in  his  hand.) 

?dENE.  Such  my  desert. 

Chrem.  Now  speak.  {Laying  doivn  the  rakes.) 


454 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


[Act  I. 


Mene.  One  only  son 

I have. — llave^  did  I say? — Had  I mean,  Chremes. 

Have  I or  no,  is  now  uncertain. 

Chrem.  Wherefore  ? 

Mene.  That  you  shall  know.  An  old  Corinthian  woman 
Now  sojourns  here,  a stranger  in  these  parts. 

And  very  poor.  It  happen’d,  of  her  daughter 

My  son  became  distractedly  enamor’d; 

E’en  to  the  brink  of  marriage  ; and  all  this 
Unknown  to  me : which  I no  sooner  learn’d 
Than  I began  to  deal  severely  with  him, 

Not  as  a young  and  love- sick  mind  requir’d, 

But  in  the  rough  and  usual  way  of  fathers. 

Daily  I chid  him  ; crying,  “ How  now.  Sir ! 

Think  you  that  you  shall  hold  these  courses  long. 

And  I your  father  living  ? — Keep  a mistress. 

As  if  she  were  your  wife ! — ^You  are  deceiv’d. 

If  you  think  that,  and  do  not  know  me,  Clinia. 

While  you  act  worthily,  you’re  mine ; if  not, 

I shall  act  toward  you  worthy  of  myself. 

All  this  arises  from  mere  idleness. 

I,  at  your  age,  ne’er  thought  of  love ; but  went 
To  seek  my  fortune  in  the  wars  in  Asia, 

And  there  acquir’d  in  arms  both  wealth  and  glory.” 

— In  short,  things  came  to  such  a pass,  the  youth, 

O’ercome  with  hearing  still  the  self-same  thing. 

And  wearied  out  with  my  reproaches  ; thinking. 

Age  and  experience  had  enabled  me 
To  judge  his  interest  better  than  himself. 

Went  off  to  serve  the  king  in  Asia,  Chremes. 

Chrem.  How  say  you? 

Mene.  Stole  away  three  months  ago. 

Without  my  knowledge. 

Chrem.  Both  have  been  to  blame : 

And  yet  this  enterprise  bespeaks  a mind. 

Modest  and  manly. 

Mene.  Having  heard  of  this 
From  some  of  his  familiars,  home  I came 
Mournful,  half-mad,  and  almost  wild  with  grief. 

I sit  me  down  ; my  servants  run  to  me ; 

Some  draw  my  sandals  olf ; while  others  haste 
To  spread  the  couches,  and  prepare  the  supper: 

Each  in  his  way,  I mark,  does  all  he  can 
To  mitigate  my  sorrow.  Noting  this, 

“ How,  said  I to  myself,  so  many  then 
Anxious  for  me  alone  ? to  pleasure  me  ? 

So  many  slaves  to  dress  me?  All  this  cost 
For  me  alone  ? — Meanwhile,  my  only  son. 

For  whom  all  these  were  fit,  as  well  as  me. 

Nay  rather  more,  since  he  is  of  an  age 
More  proper  for  their  use ; him,  him,  poor  boy, 


Sc.  IL] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


455 


Has  my  iinkindness  driven  forth  to  sorrow. 

Oh  I were  worthy  of  the  heaviest  curse, 

Could  I brook  that ! — No ; long  as  he  shall  lead 
A life  of  penury  abroad,  an  exile 
Through  my  unjust  severity,  so  long 
Will  I revenge  his  wrongs  upon  myself. 

Laboring,  scraping,  sparing,  slaving  for  him.” 

— In  short,  I did  so ; in  the  house  I left 
Nor  clothes,  nor  movables : I scrap’d  up  all. 

My  slaves,  both  male  and  female,  except  those 
Who  more  than  earn’d  their  bread  in  country-work, 
I sold : Then  set  my  house  to  sale : In  all 
I got  together  about  fifteen  talents ; 

Purchas’d  this  farm ; and  here  fatigue  myself ; 
Thinking  I do  my  son  less  injury, 

While  I’m  in  misery  too ; nor  is  it  just 
For  me,  I think,  to  taste  of  pleasure  here, 

Till  he  return  in  safety  to  partake  on’t. 

Chrem.  You  I believe  a tender  parent,  him 
A duteous  son,  if  govern’d  prudently. 

But  you  was  unacquainted  with  his  nature, 

And  he  with  yours:  sad  life,  where  things  are  so! 
You  ne’er  betray’d  your  tenderness  to  him; 

Nor  durst  he  place  that  confidence  in  you. 

Which  well  becomes  the  bosom  of  a father. 

Had  that  been  done,  this  had  not  happen’d  to  you. 
Mene.  True,  I confess  ; but  I was  most  in  fault. 
Chrem.  All,  Menedemus,  will,  I hope,  be  well, 
And  trust,  your  son  will  soon  return  in  safety. 
Mene.  Grant  it,  good  Gods ! 

Chrem.  They  will.  Now,  therefore,  since 
The  Dionysia  are  held  here  to-day. 

If  ’tis  convenient,  come,  and  feast  with  me. 

Mene.  Impossible. 

Chrem.  Why  so? Nay,  prithee  now, 

Indulge  yourself  a while : your  absent  son, 

I’m  sure,  would  have  it  so. 

Mene.  It  is  not  meet. 

That  I,  who  drove  him  forth  to  misery. 

Should  fly  it  now  myself. 

Chrem.  You  are  resolv’d  ? 

Mene.  Most  constantly. 

Chrem.  Farewell  then! 

Mene.  Fare  you  well!  * 

Scene  H. 

Chremes  alone. 

He  draws  tears  from  me. — How  I pity  him ! 

— But  ’tis  high  time,  as  the  day  goes,  to  warn 


{Exit, 


456 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


[Act  I. 


My  neighbor  Phania  to  come  forth  to  supper, 
ni  go,  and  see  if  he’s  at  home. 

{Goes  to  Piiania’s  door,  and  returns.) 
There  was, 

It  seems,  no  need  of  warning:  for,  they  tell  me. 

He  has  been  gone  to  my  house  some  time  since; 

I keep  my  guests  in  waiting ; so  I’ll  in. 

But  my  doors  creak.  (Clitipho  appears.) 

Who’s  this?  I’ll  step  aside.  {Retires.) 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Clitipho,  speaking  to  Clinia  within. 

As  yet,  my  Clinia,  you’ve  no  cause  to  fear : 

They  are  not  long : and  she.  I’m  confident. 

Will  be  here  shortly  with  the  messenger. 

Prithee,  away  then  with  these  idle  cares. 

Which  thus  torment  you! 

Chrem.  (behind.)  Whom  does  my  son  speak  to? 

Clit.  My  father  as  I wish’d— Good  Sir,  well  met. 
Chrem.  What  now  ? 

Clit.  D’ye  know  our  neighbor  Menedemus  ? 

Chrem.  Aye,  very  well. 

Clit.  D’ye  know  he  has  a son  ? 

Chrem.  I’ve  heard  he  is  in  Asia. 

Clit.  No  such  thing. 

He’s  at  our  house.  Sir. 

Chrem.  How! 

Clit.  But  just  arriv’d  : 

Ev’n  at  his  landing  I fell  in  with  him. 

And  brought  him  here  to  supper : for,  from  boys, 

We  have  been  friends  and  intimates. 

Chrem.  Good  news : 

Now  do  I wish  the  more  that  Menedemus, 

Whom  I invited,  were  my  guest  to-day. 

That  I,  and  under  my  own  roof,  had  been 
The  first  to  have  surpris’d  him  with  this  joy ! 

And  I may  yet.  {Going.) 

Clit.  Take  heed ! it  were  not  good. 

Chrem.  How  so? 

Clit.  Because  the  youth  is  yet  in  doubt: 

Newly  arriv’d ; in  fear  of  ev’ry  thing ; 

He  dreads  his  father’s  anger,  and  suspects 
The  disposition  of  his  mistress  tow’rds  him ; 

Her,  whom  he  dotes  upon ; on  whose  account. 

This  diffrence  and  departure  came  about. 

Chrem.  I know  it. 

Clit.  He  has  just  dispatch’d  his  boy 
Into  the  city  to  her,  and  our  Syrus 
I sent  along  with  him. 


IV.] 


the  SELF-ltlKMENTOR. 


457 


CimEM.  What  says  the  son? 

Clit.  Says  ? that  he’s  miserable. 

Chbem.  Miserable ! 

Who  needs  be  less  so?  for  what  earthly  good 
Can  man  possess  which  he  may  not  enjoy  ? 

Parents,  a prosp’rous  country,  friends,  birth,  riches. 

Yet  these  all  take  their  value  from  the  mind 
Of  the  possessor:  he  that  knows  their  use 
To  him  they’re  blessings;  he  that  knows  it  not 
lo  him  misuse  converts  them  into  curses. 

Clit.  Nay,  but  he  ever  was  a cross  old  man: 

And  now  there’s  nothing  that  I dread  so  much 
As  lest  he  be  transported  in  his  rage 
To  some  gross  outrages  against  his'^son. 

Chrem.  He!— Hel— But  I’ll  contain  myself.  ’Tis  good 
ior  Menedemus  that  his  son  should  fear.  (Aside.)  ^ 

CniS:3r'^I^sar^  yourself!  lOcerhearing.) 

Bet  as  it  might,  the  son  should  have  remain’d. 

Giant  that  the  father  bore  too  strict  a hand 
Upon  his  loose  desires;  he  should  have  borne  it. 

Whom  would  he  bear  withal,  if  not  a parent? 

Was  t fitting  that  the  father  should  conform 
To  the  son’s  humor,  or  the  son  to  his? 

And  for  the  rigor  that  he  murmurs  at, 

Tis  nothing : the  severities  of  fathers. 

Unless  perchance  a hard  one  here  and  there, 

Are  much  the  same:  they  reprimand  their  sons 
tor  riotous  excesses,  wenching,  drinking; 

And  starve  their  pleasures  by  a scant  allowance, 
let  this  all  tends  to  good:  but  when  the  mind 
Is  once  enslav’d  to  vicious  appetites. 

It  needs  must  follow  vicious  measures  too. 

Remember  then  this  maxim,  Clitipho, 

A wise  one  ’tis  to  draw  from  others’  faults 
A profitable  lesson  for  yourself. 

Clit.  I do  believe  it. " 

see 

What  is  provided  for  our  supper:  3'Ou, 

As  the  day  wears,  see  tliat  you’re  not  far  hence.  (Exit, 


SCLNE  lY. 


Clitipho  alone. 

What  partial  judges  of  all  sons  are  fathers! 

Who  ask  gray  wisdom  from  our  greener  years. 

And  think  our  minds  should  bear  no  touch  of  youth  • 
Governing  by  their  passions,  now  kill’d  in  them,  ' 
And  not^by  those  that  formerly  rebelPd. 

If  ever  I’ve  a son,  I promise  him 

u 


458 


THE  SELF-TOllMENTOR. 


[Act  II. 


He  shall  find  me  an  easy  father;  fit 
To  know,  and  apt  to  pardon  his  offenses! 

Not  such  as  mine,  who,  speaking  of  another. 

Shows  how  he’d  act  in  such  a case  himself: 

Yet  when  he  takes  a cup  or  two  too  much. 

Oh,  what  mad  pranks  he  tells  me  of  his  own : 

But  warns  me  now  ‘Ho  draw  from  others’  faults 
A profitable  lesson  for  myself.” 

Cunning  old  gentleman  ! he  little  knows. 

He  pours  his  proverbs  in  a deaf  man’s  ear. 

The  words  of  Bacchis,  Give  me,  Bring  me,  now 
Plave  greater  weight  with  me:  to  whose  commands, 
Alas ! I’ve  nothing  to  reply  withal ; 

Nor  is  there  man  more  wretched  thafi  myself. 

For  Clinia  here  (though  he,  I must  confess. 

Has  cares  enough)  has  got  a mistress,  modest, 
Well-bred,  and  stranger  to  all  harlot  arts: 

Mine  is  a self-will’d,  wanton,  haughty  madam, 

Gay,  and  extravagant;  and  let  her  ask 
Whate’er  she  will,  she  must  not  be  denied ; 

Since  poverty  I durst  not  make  my  plea. 

This  is  a plague  I have  but  newly  found. 

Nor  is  my  father  yet  appris’d  of  it. 


ACT  THE  SECOND. 

SCEXE  I. 

Enter  Clinia. 

Clin.  Had  my  affairs  in  love  been  prosperous, 

They  had,  I know,  been  here  long  since:  but,  ah, 

I fear  she’s  fall’n  from  virtue  in  my  absence: 

So  many  things  concur  to  prove  it  so. 

My  mind  misgives  me  ; opportunity. 

The  place,  her  age,  an  infamous  old  mother. 

Under  whose  governance  she  lives,  to  whom 
Naught  but  gain’s  precious. 

To  him  Clitipiio. 

Clit.  Clinia ! 

Clin.  Woe  is  me!  (Zb  himself.) 

Clit.  Take  heed,  lest  some  one  issue  from  your  father’s. 
And  chance  to  see  you  here. 

Clin.  I will : but  yet 

My  mind  forebodes  I know  not  what  of  ill. 

Clit.  What,  still  foreboding,  ere  you  know  the  truth  ? 
Clin.  Had  there  been  no  untoward  circumstance. 

They  had  return’d  already 


Sc.  II  ] 


THE  SELF-TOIEMENTOK. 


459 


Clit.  Patience,  Clinia ! 

They’ll  be  here  presenth'. 

Clin.  Presently ! but  when  ? 

Clit.  Consider,  ’tis  a long  way  oft’:  and  then 
You  know  the  ways  of  women ; to  set  otf. 

And  trick  their  persons  out,  requires  an  age. 

Clin.  Oh  Clitipho,  I fear 

Clit.  Take  courage ; see, 

Dromo  and  Syrus ! 


Scene  II. 

Enter  Syrus  and  Dromo,  conversing  at  a distance, 

Syrus.  Say  you  ? 

Dromo.  Even  so. 

Syrus.  But  while  Ave  chat,  the  girls  are  left  behind. 

Clit.  (listening.)  Girls,  Clinia!  do  you  hear? 

Clin.  I hear,  I see, 

And  now,  at  last,  I’m  happy,  Clitipho. 

Dromo  {to  Syrus).  Left  behind!  troth,  no  vronder:  so 
encumber’d ; 

A troop  of  waiting-women  at  her  heels! 

Clin,  (listening).  Confusion  ! Whence  should  she  have  wait- 
ing-Avomen  ? 

Clit.  Hoav  can  I tell? 

Syrus  {to  Dromo).  We  ought  not  to  have  dropp’d  them. 
They  bring  a world  of  baggage ! 

Clin,  (listening).  Death ! 

Syrus.  Gold,  clothes! 

It  groAvs  late  too,  and  they  may  miss  their  AA^ay. 

We  ye  been  to  blame : Dromo,  run  back,  and  meet  them. 
Away!  quick!  don’t  loiter.  (Exit 

Clin.  What  a Avretch! 

All  my  fair  hopes  quite  blasted ! 

Clit.  What’s  the  matter? 

What  is  it  troubles  you  ? 

Clin.  What  troubles  me? 

D’ye  hear  ? She  Avaiting-Avomen,  gold,  and  clothes  ! 

She,  Avhom  I left  Avith  one  poor  servant-girl! 

Whence  come  they,  think  you  ? 

Clit.  Oh,  I take  you  noAv. 

Syrus  (to  himself).  Gods,  what  a crowd!  our  house  will 
hardly  hold  them. 

What  eating,  and  Avhat  drinking  will  there  be ! 

How  miserable  our  old  gentleman ! 

But  here  are  those  I Avish’d  to  see!  {Seeing  Clit.  and  Clin  ) 
Clin.  Oh  Jove! 

Where  then  are  truth,  and  faith,  and  honor  fled  ? 

While  I a fugiti\’e,  for  love  of  you. 

Quit  my  dear  country,  you,  Antiphila, 


4C0 


THE  !SELF-TORMENTOK. 


[Act  II. 


Eor  sordid  giiiii  desert  me  in  distress! 

You,  for  whose  sake  I courted  infamy, 

And  cast  off  my  obedience  to  my  father. 

He,  I remember  now  with  grief  and  shame. 

Oft  warn’d  me  of  these  women’s  wa3^s ; oft  tried 
In  vain  by  sage  advice  to  wean  me  from  lier. 

But  now  I bid  farewell  to  her  forever ; 

Though,  when  ’twere  good  and  wholesome,  I was  froward. 
No  wretch  more  curs’d  than  I! 

Syrus.  He  has  misconstrued 

All  our  discourse,  I find You  fancy,  Clinia, 

Your  mistress  other  than  she  is.  Her  life. 

As  far  as  we  from  circumstance  could  learn, 

Her  disposition  tow’rd  you,  are  the  same. 

Clin.  How!  tell  me  all:  for  there  is  naught  on  earth 
I’d  rather  know  than  that  my  fears  are  false. 

Syrus.  First  then,  that  you  may  be  appris’d  of  all, 

Th’  old  woman,  thought  her  mother,  Avas  not  so  : 

That  beldam  also  is  deceas’d  ; for  this 
I overheard  her,  as  we  came  along. 

Telling  the  other. 

Clit.  Other!  who?  what  other? 

Syrus.  Let  me  but  finish  what  I have  begun, 

And  I shall  come  to  that. 

Clit.  Dispatch  then. 

Syrus.  First, 

Having  arriv’d,  Dromo  knocks  at  the  door : 

Which  an  old  woman  had  no  sooner  open’d, 

But  in  goes  Dromo,  and  I after  him. 

Th’  old  woman  bolts  tlie  door,  and  spins  again, 

And  noAv,  or  never,  Clinia,  might  be  knoAvn, 

Coming  thus  unexpectedly  upon  her, 

Antiphila’s  employments  in  your  absence : 

For  such,  as  then  we  saw,  we  might  presume 
Her  daily  practice,  which  of  all  things  else. 

Betrays  the  mind  and  disposition  most. 

Busily  plying  of  the  web  avc  found  her. 

Decently  clad  in  mourning, — I suppose. 

For  the  deceas’d  old  woman.- She  had  on 

No  gold  or  trinkets,  but  was  plain  and  neat, 

And  dress’d  like  those  who  dress  but  for  themselves. 

No  female  varnish  to  set  off  her  beauty : 

Her  hair  dishevel’d,  long,  and  flowing  loose 

About  her  shoulders. Peace!  (To  Clinia.) 

Clin.  Nay,  j^rithee,  Syrus, 

Do  not  transport  me  thus  without  a cause. 

Syrus.  Th’  old  woman  spun  the  woof ; one  servant-girl, 
A tatter’d  dirty  dowdy,  weaving  by  her. 

Clit.  Clinia,  if  this  be  true,  as  sure  it  is. 

Who  is  more  fortunate  than  you  ? D’ye  mark 
The  ragged  dirty  girl  that  he  describ’d  ? 


Sc.  IT.] 


THE  SELE-l’OKMENTOR. 


4G1 


A sign  the  mistress  leads  a blameless  life, 

AYlien  she  maintains  no  flaunting  go-between  : 

Eor  ’tis  a rule  with  those  gallants,  who  wish 
To  win  the  mistress,  first  to  bribe  the  maid. 

Clin.  Go  on,  I beg  you,  Syrus  ; and  take  heed 
You  fill  me  not  witli  idle  joy. — What  said  she 
Wken  you  nam’d  me  ? 

Syrus.  As  soon  as  we  inform’d  her 
You  was  return’d,  and  begg’d  her  to  come  to  you, 

She  left  her  .work  immediately,  and  burst 
Into  a flood  of  tears,  which  one  might  see 
Were  shed  for  love  of  you. 

Clin.  By  all  the  Gods, 

I know  not  where  I am  for  very  joy. 

Oh,  how  I trembled ! 

Clit.  Without  cause,  I know. 

But  come ; now,  Syrus,  tell  us,  who’s  that  other  ? 

Syrus.  Your  mistress,  Bacchis. 

Clit.  How  ! what ! Bacchis  ? Tell  mo, 

Where  d’ye  bring  her,  rogue  ? 

Syrus.  Where  do  I bring  her? 

To  our  house  certainly. 

Clit.  My  father’s  ? 

Syrus.  Aye. 

Clit.  Oh  monstrous  impudence ! 

Syrus.  Consider,  Sir ; 
jMore  danger,  the  more  honor. 

Clit.  Look  ye.  Sirrah, 

You  mean  to  purchase  praise  at  my  expense. 

Where  the  least  slip  of  yours  would  ruin  me. 

What  is’t  you  drive  at  ? 

Syrus.  But 

Clit.  But  what? 

Syrus.  I’ll  tell  you. 

Give  me  but  leave ! 

Clin.  Permit  him. 

Clit.  Well,  I do. 

Syrus.  This  business — now — is  just  as  if — {Drawling.') 
Clit.  Confusion  ! 

What  a long  roundabout  beginning! 

Clin.  True. 

To  the  point,  Syrus ! 

Syrus.  I’ve  no  patience  Vvith  you. 

You  use  me  ill,  Sir,  and  I can’t  endure  it. 

Clin.  Hear  him : peace,  Clitipho!  (2b  Clitipho.) 
Syrus.  You’d  be  in  love  ; 

Possess  your  mistress  ; and  have  wherewithal 
To  make  her  presents : but  to  gain  all  this 
You’d  risk  no  danger.  By  my  troth,  you’re  wise, 

If  it  be  wise  to  wish  for  what  can’t  be. 

Take  good  and  bad  together;  both,  or  none; 


4G2 


THE  SELF-TOIIMENTOU. 


Act  II. 


Choose  which  you  will ; no  mistress,  or  no  danger. 

And  yet  the  scheme  I’ve  laid  is  fair  and  safe ; 

Your  mistress  may  be  with  you  at  your  father  s 
Without  detection;  by  the  self-same  means 
I shall  procure  the  sum  you’ve  promis’d  her, 

Which  you  have  rung  so  often  in  my  ears. 

You’ve  almost  deafen’d  them.— What  would  you  more  ? 

Clit.  If  it  may  be  so 

Syrus.  If!  the  proof  shall  show. 

Clit.  Well,  well  then,  what’s  this  scheme? 

Syrus.  We  will  pretend 
That  Bacchis  is  his  mistress. 

Clit.  Mighty  fine ! 

What  shall  become  then  of  his  own  ? Shall  she 
Pass  for  his  too,  because  one’s  not  enough 
To  answ'cr  for? 

Syrus.  No.  She  shall  to  your  mother. 

Clit.  How  so? 

Syrus.  ’Twere  tedious,  Clitipho,  to  tell : 

Let  it  suffice,  I’ve  reason  for  it. 

Clit.  Nonsense ! 

I see  no  ground  to  make  me  hazard  this. 

Syrus.  Well ; if  you  dread  this.  I’ve  another  way, 
Which  you  shall  both  own  has  no  danger  in’t. 

Clit.  Aye,  prithee,  find  that  out. 

Syrus.  With  all  my  heart. 

I’ll  run  and  meet  the  woman  on  the  road. 

And  order  them  to  go  straight  home  again. 

Clit.  How!  what! 

Syrus.  I mean  to  ease  you  of  your  fear. 

That  you  may  sleep  in  peace  on  either  side.  (Going.) 
Clit.  What  shall  I do  ? 

Clin.  E’en  profit  of  his  scheme. 

Clit.  But,  Syrus,  tell  me  then 

Syrus.  Away,  away!  ^ ^ ^ . n 

This  day  too  late  you’ll  wish  for  her  in  vain.  (Going.) 

Clin.  This  is  your  time : enjoy  it,  while  you  may : 
Who  knows  if  you  may  have  the  like  again  ? 

Clit.  Syrus,  I say. 

Syrus.  Call  as  you  please.  I’ll  on. 

Clit.  Clinia,  you’re  right.— Ho,  Syrus  ! Syrus,  ho ! 
Syrus,  I say. 

Syrus.  So,  he  grows  hot  at  last.  (To  himself.) 

What  would  j'OU,  Sir?  (Turning  about.) 

Clit.  Come  back,  come  back ! 

Syrus.  I’m  here.  (Returns.) 

You’re  pleasure.  Sir! — What,  will  not  this  content  you? 

Clit.  Yes,  Syrus ; me,  my  passion,  and  my  fame 
I render  up  to  you : dispose  of  all ; 

But  see  you’re  not  to  blame. 

Syrus.  Ridiculous ! 


Sc.  II.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


463 


Spare  your  advice,  good  Clitipho!  you  know 
Success  is  my  concern  still  more  than  yours : 

For  if  perchance  we  fail  in  our  attempt, 

You  shall  have  words ; but  I,  alas ! dry  blows. 

Be  sure  then  of  my  diligence;  and  beg 

Your  friend  to  join,  and  countenance  our  scheme. 

Clin.  Depend  on  me : I see  it  must  be  so. 

Clit.  Thanks,  my  best  Clinia ! 

Clin.  But  take  heed  she  trip  not. 

Syrus.  Oh,  she’s  well  instructed. 

Clit.  Still  I wonder 
How  you  prevail’d  so  easily  upon  her : 

Her,  who’s  so  scornful. 

Syrus.  I came  just  in  time. 

Time,  that  in  most  affairs  is  all  in  all : 

For  there  I found  a certain  wretched  captain, 

Begging  her  favors.  She,  an  artful  baggage, 

Denied  him,  to  inilame  his  mind  the  more. 

And  make  her  court  to  you. — But  hark  ye.  Sir, 

Be  cautious  of  your  conduct!  no  imprudence! 

You  know  hov/  shrewd  and  keen  your  father  is ; 

And  I know  your  intemperance  too  well. 

No  double-meanings,  glances,  leers,  sighs,  hems. 

Coughing,  or  titt’ring,  I beseech  you,  Sir! 

Clit.  I’ll  ]3lay  my  part 

Syrus.  Look  to’t ! 

Clit.  To  your  content. 

Syrus.  But  see,  the  women!  they’re  soon  after  us. 

{Looking  out.) 

Clit.  AYhere  are  they? — (Syrus  stops  him.)  AYhy  d’ye  hold 
me  ? 

Syrus.  She  is  not 
Your  mistress  now. 

Clit.  True : not  before  my  father. 

But  now,  meanwhile 

Syrus.  Nor  now,  meanwhile, 

Clit.  Allow  me! 

Syrus.  No. 

Clit.  But  a moment! 

Syrus.  No. 

Clit.  A single  kiss ! 

Syrus.  Away,  if  you  are  wise! 

Clit.  Well,  well.  I’m  gone. 

^What’s  he  to  do? 

Syrus.  Stay  here. 

Clit.  0 happy 

Syrus.  March  ! {Pushes  off  Clitipho.) 


461 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR.  [Act  IL,  Sc.  III. 


Scene  III 

Enter  Bacchis,  and  Antipiiila  at  a distance. 

Bacch.  Well,  I commend  yon,  my  Antiphiia : 

Happy,  that  you  have  made  it  still  your  care. 

That  virtue  should  seem  fair  as  beauty  in  you  I 
Nor  Gracious  Heav’n  so  help  me,  do  I wonder 
If  ev’ry  man  should  wish  you  for  his  own ; 

For  your  discourse  bespeaks  a worthy  mind. 

And  when  I ponder  with  myself,  and  weigh 
Your  course  of  life,  and  all  the  rest  of  those 
AYho  live  not  on  the  common,  ’tis  not  strange, 

Your  morals  should  be  different  from  ours. 

Virtue’s  your  int’rest ; those,  with  whom  we  deal, 

Forbid  it  to  be  ours  : For  our  gallants. 

Charm’d  by  our  beaut}',  court  us  but  for  that; 

Which  fading,  they  transfer  their  love  to  others. 

If  then  meanwliile  we  look  not  to  ourselves, 

We  live  forlorn,  deserted,  and  distress’d. 

You,  when  you’ve  once  agreed  to  pass  your  life 
Bound  to  one  man,  whose  temper  suits  with  yours. 

He  too  attaches  his  whole  heart  to  you : 

Thus  mutual  friendship  draws  you  each  to  each; 

Nothing  can  part  you,  notiuiig  shake  your  love. 

Anti.  I know  not  others’ ; for  myself  I know, 

From  his  content  I ever  drew  my  own. 

Clin,  {overhearing).  Excellent  maid ! my  best  Antiphiia 
Thou  too,  thy  love  alone  is  now  the  cause 
That  brings  me  to  my  native  land  again. 

For  when  away,  all  evils  else  were  light 
Compar’d  to  wanting  thee. 

Syrus.  I do  believe  it.  ) 

Clin.  O Syrus,  ’tis  too  much ; I can  not  bear  it. 

Wretch  that  I am ! — and  must  I be  debarr’d 
To  give  a loose  to  love,  a love  like  this  ? 

Syrus.  And  yet  if  I may  judge  your  father’s  mind. 

He  has  more  troubles  yet  in  store  for  you.  J 

Bacch.  Who  is  that  youth  that  eyes  us?  (Seeing  Clinia.) 
Anti.  Ha ! (seeing  him.') — Support  me  ! 

Bacch.  Bless  me,  what  now? 

Anti.  I faint. 

Bacch.  Alas,  poor  soul! 

"What  is’t  surprises  you,  Antiphiia? 

Anti.  Is’t  Clinia  that  I see,  or  no? 

Bacch.  Whom  do  you  see? 

Clin.  Welcome  my  soul!  (Running  vj)  to  her.)) 

Anti.  My  wdsh’d-for  Clinia,  welcome ! 

Clin.  How  fares  my  love  ? 

Anti.  O’erjoyed  at  your  return. 


('Umly) 


Act  III.,  Sc.  II.]  THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


465 


Clin.  And  do  I hold  thee,  my  Antiphila, 

Thou  only  wish  and  comfort  of  my  soul! 

Syrus.  In,  in,  for  you  have  made  our  good  man  wait. 

{Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  THIRD. 

Scene  I. 

Chrem.  ’Tis  now  just  daybreak. — Why  delay  I then 
To  call  my  neighbor  forth,  and  be  the  first 
To  tell  him  of  his  son’s  return  ? — The  youth, 

I understand,  would  fain  not  have  it  so. 

But  shall  I,  when  I see  this  poor  old  man 
Afflict  himself  so  grievously,  by  silence 
Rob  him  of  such  an  unexpected  joy. 

When  the  discovTy  can  not  hurt  the  son? 

No,  I’ll  not  do’t ; but  far  as  in  my  pow’r 
Assist  the  father.  As  my  son,  I see. 

Ministers  to  th’  occasions  of  his  friend. 

Associated  in  counsels,  rank,  and  age. 

So  we  old  men  should  serve  each  other  too. 


Scene  IL 
Enter  Menede:mus. 

Mene.  (to  himself).  Sure  I’m  by  nature  form’d  for  misery 
Beyond  the  rest  of  humankind,  or  else 
’Tis  a false  saying,  though  a common  one, 

“That  time  assuages  grief.”  For  ev’ry  day 
My  sorrow  for  the  absence  of  my  son 
Grows  on  my  mind : the  longer  he’s  away, 

The  more  impatiently  I wish  to  see  him. 

The  more  pine  after  him. 

Chrem.  But  he’s  come  forth.  (Seeing  Menedemus.) 
Yonder  he  stands.  I’ll  go  and  speak  with  him. 
Good-morrow,  neighbor ! I have  news  for  you ; 

Such  news  as  you’ll  be  overjoy’d  to  hear. 

Mene.  Of  my  son,  Chremes  ? 

Chrem.  He’s  alive  and  well. 

Mene.  Where  ? 

Chrem.  At  my  house. 

Mene.  My  son? 

Chrem.  Your  son. 

Mene.  Come  home? 

Chrem.  Come  home. 

Mene.  My  dear  boy  come?  my  Clinia? 

Chrem.  He. 


4GG 


THE  SELE-TOlIxMENTOK. 


[Act  III. 


Mene.  Away  then!  prithee,  bring  me  to  him. 

Chrem.  Hold! 

He  cares  not  you  should  know  of  his  return, 

And  dreads  your  sight  because  of  his  late  trespass. 

He  fears,  besides,  your  old  severity 
Is  now  augmented. 

Mene.  Did  not  you  inform  him 
The  bent  of  my  affections? 

Chrem.  Not  I. 

Mene.  Wherefore,  Chremes  ? 

Chrem.  Because  ’twould  injure  both  yourself  and  him 
To  seem  of  such  a poor  and  broken  spirit. 

Mene.  I can  not  help  it.  Too  long,  much  too  long, 
I’ve  been  a cruel  father. 

Chrem.  Ah,  my  friend, 

You  run  into  extremes  ; too  niggardly, 

Or,  too  profuse  ; imprudent  either  way. 

First,  rather  than  permit  him  entertain 
A mistress,  who  was  then  content  with  little. 

And  glad  of  any  thing,  you  drove  him  hence: 

Whereon  the  girl  was  forc’d  against  her  will. 

To  grow  a common  gamester  for  her  bread : 

And  now  she  can’t  be  kept  without  much  cost. 

You’d  squander  thousands.  For  to  let  you  know  , 

How  admirably  madam’s  train’d  to  mischief. 

How  finely  form’d  to  ruin  her  admirers, 

She  came  to  my  house  yesternight  with  more 
Than  half  a score  of  women  at  her  tail. 

Laden  with  clothes  and  jewels. — If  she  had 
A Prince  to  her  gallant,  he  could  not  bear 
Such  wild  extravagance : much  less  can  you. 

Mene.  Is  she  within  too? 

Chrem.  She  within  ! Aye,  truly. 

I’ve  found  it  to  my  cost : for  I have  given 
To  her  and  her  companions  but  one  supper ; 

And  to  give  such  another  would  undo  me. 

For,  not  to  dwell  on  other  circumstances, 

^erely  to  taste,  and  smack,  and  spirt  about. 

What  quantities  of  wine  has  she  consum’d ! 

This  is  toQ  rough,  she  cries  ; some  softer,  pray ! 

I have  pierc’d  every  vessel,  ev’ry  cask ; 

Kept  ev’ry  servant  running  to  and  fro : 

All  this  ado,  and  all  in  one  short  night ! 

What,  Menedemus,  must  become  of  you. 

Whom  they  will  prey  upon  continually  ? 

Now,  afore  Heaven,  thinking  upon  this, 

I pitied  you. 

Mene.  Why  let  him  have  his  will ; 

Waste,  consume,  squander ; I’ll  endure  it  all. 

So  I but  have  him  with  me. 

Chrem.  If  resolv’d 


Sc.  11.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOK. 


4G7 


To  take  that  course,  I hold  it  of  great  moment 
That  he  perceive  not  you  allow  of  this. 

Mene.  What  shall  I do  then  ? 

Chrem.  Any  thing  much  rather 
Than  what  you  mean  to  do  : at  second-hand 
Supply  him ; or  permit  his  slave  to  trick  you  ; 

Though  I perceive  they’re  on  that  scent  already, 

And  privately  contriving  how  to  do’t. 

There’s  Syrus,  and  that  little  slave  of  yours 
In  an  eternal  whisper:  the  young  men 
Consulting  too  together : and  it  were 
Better  to  lose  a talent  by  these  means, 

Than  on  your  plan  a mina  : for  at  present 
Money  is  not  the  question,  but  the  means 
To  gratify  the  youth  the  safest  way. 

For  if  he  once  perceives  your  turn  of  mind. 

And  that  3^ou’d  rather  hazard  life,  and  wealth, 

Than  part  from  him  ; ah,  Menedemus,  what 
A window  to  debauchery"  you’ll  open ! 

Nay,  life  itself  will  grow  a burden  to  you; 

For  too  much  liberty  corrupts  us  all. 

Whatever  comes  into  his  head,  he’ll  have; 

Nor  think  if  his  demand  be  right  or  wrong. 

You,  on  your  part,  to  see  your  wealth  and  son 
Both  wreck’d,  will  not  be  able  to  endure. 

You’ll  not  comply  with  his  demands  ; whereon 
He  falls  to  his  old  fence  immediately. 

And  knowing  where  your  weak  part  lies,  will  threaten 
To  leave  you  instantly". 

Mene.  ’Tis  very  like. 

Chrem.  Now  on  my  life  I have  not  clos’d  my"  eyes. 

Nor  had  a single  wink  of  sleep  this  night, 

For  thinking  how  I might  restore  your  son. 

Mene.  Give  me  your  hand  : and  let  me  beg  .you,  Chremes, 
Continue  to  assist  me  ! 

Chrem.  Willingly^ 

Mene.  D’ye  know  what  I would  have  you  do  at  present? 
Chrem.  \Vhat  ? 

Mene.  Since  y^ou  have  found  out  they"  meditate 
Some  practice  on  me,  prithee,  urge  them  on 
To  execute  it  quickly : for  I long 
To  grant  his  wishes,  long  to  see  him  straight. 

Chrem.  Let  me  alone.  I must  lay  hold  of  Syrus, 

And  give  him  some  encouragement. — But  see ! 

Some  one,  I know  not  who,  comes  forth : In,  in. 

Lest  they  perceive  that  we  consult  together! 

I have  a little  business  too  in  hand. 

Simus  and  Crito,  our  two  neighbors  here, 

Have  a dispute  about  their  boundaries ; 

And  they’ve  referr’d  it  to  my  arbitration. 

I’ll  go  and  tell  them,  ’tis  not  in  mv  power 


4C8 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOE. 


[Act  III. 


To  wait  on  them,  as  I propos’d  to-day. 

I will  be  with  you  presently. 

Mene.  Pray  do.  (^Exlt  Ciiremes. 

Gods ! that  the  nature  of  manldnd  is  such, 

To  see  and  judge  of  the  affairs  of  others 
Much  better  than  their  own  ! Is’t  therefore  so. 

Because  that,  in  our  own  concerns,  we  feel 
Too  much  the  influence  of  joy  or  sorrow  ? 

How  much  more  wisely  does  my  neighbor  here 
Consult  for  me,  than  I do  for  myself! 

CiiREM.  {returning').  I’ve  disengag’d  myself!  that  J might  be 
At  leisure  to  attend  on  your  affairs.  (^Exlt  Menedemus. 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Syrus  at  another  part  of  the  stage. 

Syrus  {to  himself).  This  way,  or  that  way,  or  some  way  or 
other ! 

For  money  must  bo  had,  and  th’  old  man  trick’d. 

CiiREM.  {overbearing).  Was  I deceiv’d  in  thinking  they  were 
at  it  ? 

That  slave  of  Clinia’s,  it  should  seem,  is  dull, 

And  so  our  Syrus  has  the  part  assign’d  him. 

Syrus.  Who’s  there  {seeing  Ciiremes).  Undone  if  he  has 
overheard  me.  {Aside.) 

CiiREM.  Syrus. 

Syrus.  Sir  ! 

Chrem.  What  now  ? 

Syrus.  Nothing. — But  I wonder 
To  see  you  up  so  early  in  the  morning, 

Who  drank  so  freely  yesterday. 

Chrem.  Not  much. 

Syrus.  Not. much?  You  have,  Sir,  as  the  proverb  goes. 
The  old  ,age  of  an  eagle. 

Chrem.  Ah ! 

Syrus.  A pleasant, 

Good  sort  of  girl,  this  wench  of  Clinia’s. 

Chrem.  Aye,  so  she  seems. 

Syrus.  And  handsome. 

Chrem.  Well  enough. 

Syrus.  Not  like  the  maids  of  old,  but  passable, 

As  girls  go  now : nor  am  I much  amaz’d 
That  Clinia  dotes  upon  her.  But  he  has, 

Alas,  poor  lad ! a miserable,  close. 

Dry,  covetous,  curmudgeon  to  his  father: 

Our  neighbor  here ; d’ye  know  him  ? — Yet,  as  it 
He  did  not  roll  in  riches,  his  poor  son 
Was  forc’d  to  run  away  for  very  want. 

D’ye  know  this  story? 

Chrem.  Do  I know  it?  Aye. 

A scoundrel ! sliould  be  horsc-whin]vd. 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


469 


SyrU3.  Who  ? 

Chrem.  That  slave 
Of  Clinia’s 

Syrus.  Troth,  I trembled  for  3^011,  Sv'riis ! {Aside.) 

Chrem.  Who  suffer’d  this. 

Syrus.  AVhy  what  should  he  have  done  ? 

Chrem.  What  ? — have  devis’d  expedients,  contriv’d 
schemes, 

To  raise  the  cash  for  the  }"Oung  gentleman 
To  make  his  mistress  presents ; and  have  done 
A kindness  to  th’  old  hunks  against  his  will. 

Syrus.  You  jest. 

Chre^i.  Not  I ; it  was  his  dut}^  Syrus. 

Syrus.  How’s  this?  why  prithee  then,  d’ye  praise  those 
slaves, 

Who  trick  their  masters  ? 

Chrem.  Yes  upon  occasion. 

Syrus.  Mighty  fine,  truly ! 

Chrem.  Wh}^,  it  oft  prevents 
A great  deal  of  uneasiness  : for  instance. 

This  Clinia,  Menedemus’  only  son. 

Would  never  have  elop’d. 

Syrus.  I can  not  tell 

Whether  he  says  all  this  in  jest  or  earnest ; 

But  it  gives  fresh  encouragement  to  me.  {Aside.) 

Chrem.  And  now  what  is’t  the  blockhead  waits  for,  Syrus? 
Is’t  till  his  master  runs  away  again, 

AYhen  he  perceives  himself  no  longer  able 
To  bear  with  the  expenses  of  his  mistress  ? 
lias  he  no  plot  upon  th’  old  gentleman? 

Syrus.  He’s  a poor  creature. 

Chrem.  But  it  is  3'our  part. 

For  Clinia’s  sake,  to  lend  a helping  hand. 

Syrus.  Why,  that  indeed  I easily  can  do, 

If  \^ou  command  me ; for  I know  which  way. 

Chrem.  I take  you  at  your  word. 

Syrus.  I’ll  make  it  good. 

Chrem.  Do  so. 

Syrus.  But  hark  ye,  Sir ! remember  this. 

If  ever  it  hereafter  comes  to  pass, 

— As  who  can  answer  for  th’  affairs  of  men ! 

That  your  own  son 

Chrem.  I hope  ’twill  never  be. 

Syrus.  I hope  so  too ; nor  do  I mention  this 
From  any  knowledge  or  suspicion  of  him: 

But  that  in  case — his  time  of  life,  3^ou  know; 

And  should  there  be  occasion,  trust  me,  Chremes, 

But  I could  handle  }'ou  most  handsomely, 

Chrem.  Well,  well,  we’ll  think  of  it,  when  that  time  cornea, 
ow  to  your  present  task!  {Exit  Chremes. 


470 


THE  SELE-TOKMENTOR. 


[Act  hi. 


Scene  IV. 

Syrus  alone. 

I never  heard 

My  master  argue  more  commodiously ; 
Nor  ever  had  a mind  to  mischief,  when 
It  might  be  done  with  more  impunity. 
But  who’s  this  coming  from  our  house  ? 


Scene  V. 

Enter  CLiTinio,  and  Ciiremes  following. 
Chrem.  How  now? 

What  manners  are  these,  Clitipho  ? does  this 
Become  you? 

Clit.  What’s  the  matter? 

Chrem.  Did  not  I 

This  very  instant  see  you  put  your  hand 
Into  yon  wench’s  bosom  ? 

Syrus.  So!  albs  over: 

I am  undone.  {Aside.) 

Clit.  Me,  Sir? 

Chrem.  These  very  eyes 
Beheld  you : don’t  deny  it. — ’Tis  base  in  you 
To  be  so  flippant  with  your  hands.  For  what 
Affront’s  more  gross  than  to  receive  a friend 
Under  your  roof,  and  tamper  with  his  mistress  ? 
And,  last  night  in  your  cups  too,  how  indecent 
And  rudely  you  behav’d ! 

Syrus.  ’Tis  very  true. 

Chrem.  So  very  troublesome,  so  help  me  Heav’n, 
I fear’d  the  consequence.  I know  the  ways 
Of  lovers  : they  oft  take  offense  at  things 
You  dream  not  of. 

Clit.  But  my  companion,  Sir, 

Is  confident  I would  not  wrong  him. 

Chrem.  Granted. 

Yet  you  should  cease  to  hang  forever  on  them. 
Withdraw,  and  leave  them  sometimes  to  themselves. 
Love  has  a thousand  sallies ; you  restrain  them. 

I can  conjecture  from  myself.  There’s  none, 

How  near  soever,  Clitipho,  to  whom 
I dare  lay  open  all  my  weaknesses. 

With  one  my  pride  forbids  it,  with  another 
The  very  action  shames  me  : and  believe  me. 

It  is  the  same  with  him  ; and  ’tis  our  place 
To  mark  on  what  occasions  to  indulge  him. 

Syrus.  What  says  he  now?  {Asdic.) 


Yi:  ^ 


THE  SELE-TOKMENTOR. 


471 


Clit.  Confusion  I 
Syrus.  Clitipho, 

These  are  the  very  precc})ts  that  I gave  you : 

And  how  discreet  and  temperate  you’ve  been ! 

Clit.  Prithee,  peace ! 

Syrus.  Aye,  I warrant  you. 

CnRE]M.  Oh,  Syrus, 

I’m  quite  ashani’d  of  him. 

Syrus.  I do  not  doubt  it. 

Nor  without  reason  ; for  it  troubles  me. 

Clit.  Still,  rascal ! 

Syrus.  Nay,  I do  but  speak  the  truth. 

Clit.  May  I not  then  go  near  them  ? 

Chrem.  Prithee,  then. 

Is  there  one  way  alone  of  going  near  them  ? 

Syrus.  Confusion  ! he’ll  betray  himself  before 
I get  the  money.  (Aside.) — Chremes,  will  you  once 
Hear  a fool’s  counsel  ? 

Chrem.  What  do  you  advise  ? 

Syrus.  Order  your  son  about  his  business. 

Clit.  'Whither  ? 

Syrus.  Whither ! where’er  you  please.  Give  place  to  them. 
Go  take  a walk. 

Clit.  Walk  ! where  ? 

Syrus.  A pretty  question  ! 

This,  that,  or  any  way. 

Chrem.  He  says  right.  Go  ! 

Clit.  Now,  plague  upon  you,  Syrus!  (Going.) 

Syrus  (to  Clitipho,  going).  Henceforth,  learn 
To  keep  those  hands  of  yours  at  rest.  (Exit  Clitipho. 

Scene  YI. 


D'ye  mind  ? 

What  think  you,  Chremes,  will  become  of  him. 

Unless  you  do  your  utmost  to  preserve, 

Correct,  and  counsel  him  ? 

Chrem.  I’ll  take  due  care. 

Syrus.  But  nov/’s  your  time.  Sir,  to  look  after  him. 
Chrem.  It  shall  be  done. 

Syrus.  It  must  be,  if  you’re  wise : 

Eor  ev’ry  day  he  minds  me  less  and  less. 

Chrem.  But,  Syrus,  say,  what  progress  have  you  made 
In  that  affair  I just  now  mention’d  to  you  ? 

Have  you  struck  out  a scheme  that  pleases  you  ? 

Or  are  you  still  to  seek  ? 

Syrus.  The  plot,  you  mean. 

On  Menedemus.  I’ve  just  hit  on  one. 

Chrem.  Good  fellow  I prithee  now,  what  is ’t  ? 

Syrus.  I’ll  tell  you. 

But  as  one  thing  brings  in  another 


472 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOE. 


[Act  III. 


Chrem.  Well? 

Syrus.  This  Baccliis  is  a sad  jade. 

Chrem.  So  it  seems. 

Syrus.  Aye,  Sir,  if  you  knew  all ; nay,  even  now 

She’s  hatching  mischief. Dwelling  hereabouts, 

There  was  of  late  an  old  Corinthian  woman. 

To  whom  this  Bacchis  lent  a thousand  pieces. 

Chrem.  What  then  ? 

Syrus.  The  woman’s  dead ; and  left  behind 
A daughter,  very  young,  whom  she  bequeath’d. 

By  way  of  pledge,  to  Bacchis  for  the  money. 

Chrem.  I understand. 

Syrus.  This  girl  came  here  with  Bacchis, 

And  now  is  with  your  wife. 

Chrem.  What  then  ? 

Syrus.  She  begs 

Of  Clinia  to  advance  the  cash ; for  which 
She’ll  give  the  girl  as  an  equivalent. 

She  \vaiits  the  thousand  pieces. 

Chrem.  Does  she  so  ? 

Syrus.  No  doubt  on’t. 

Chrem.  So  I thought. — And  what  do  you 
Intend  to  do  ? 

Syrus.  Who  ? I,  Sir  ? I’ll  aw'ay 
To  Menedemus  presently;  and  tell  him 
This  maiden  is  a rich  and  noble  captive. 

Stolen  from  Caria ; and  to  ransom  her 
Will  greatly  profit  him. 

Chrem.  ’Twill  never  do. 

Syrus.  How  so  ? 

Chrem.  I answer  now  for  Menedemus. 

I will  not  purchase  her.  What  say  you  now  ? 

Syrus.  Give  a more  favorable  answer! 

Chrem.  No, 

There’s  no  occasion. 

Syrus.  No  occasion  ? 

CnRE:\r.  No. 

Syrus.  I can  not  comprehend  you. 

Chrem.  I’ll  explain. 

— But  hold ! what  now  ? whence  comes  it  that  our  door 
Opens  so  hastily? 

Scene  YII. 

ICnter  at  a distance  Sostrata  iciilt  a ring,  and  the  Nurse. 

SosTRA.  Or  I’m  deceiv’d, 

Or  this  is  certainly  the  very  ring ; 

The  ring  with  which  my  daughter  was  expos’d. 

Chrem.  {to  Syrus,  behind).  What  can  those  wordis  mean, 
Syrus  ? 


Sc.  vir.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


473 


SosTRA.  Tell  me,  Nurse! 

Does  it  appear  to  you  to  bo  the  same  ? 

Nurse.  Aye,  marry : and  the  very  moment  that 
You  show’d  it  me,  I said  it  was  the  same. 

SosTRA.  But  have  you  thoroughly  examin’d,  Nurse  ? 
Nurse.  Aye,  thoroughly. 

SosTRA.  In  then,  and  let  me  know 
If  she  has  yet  done  bathing  ; and  meanwhile 
I’ll  wait  my  husband  here.  QExit  Nurse. 

Syrus.  She  wants  you.  Sir  I inquire 
What  she  would  have.  She’s  grave,  I knov/  not  why. 

’Tis  not  for  nothing  ; and  I fear  the  cause. 

CiiREM.  The  cause  ? pshaw  I nothing.  She’ll  take  mighty 
pains 

To  be  delirer’d  of  some  mighty  trifle. 

SosTRA.  (seeing  them').  Oh  husband ! 

CiiREM.  Oh  wife ! 

Rostra.  I was  looking  for  you. 

Chrem.  Your  pleasure  ? 

SosTRA.  First,  I must  entreat  you  then. 

Believe,  I would  not  dare  do  any  thing 
Against  your  order. 

CiiREM.  What  I must  I believe 
A thing  past  all  belief? — I do  believe  it. 

Syrus.  This  exculpation  bodes  some  fault,  I’m  sure. 

(^Aside.') 

SosTRA.  Do  you  remember,  I was  pregnant  once. 

When  you  assur’d  m.e  with  much  earnestness. 

That  if  I were  deliver’d  of  a girl, 

.You  would  not  have  the  child  brought  up  ? 

Chrem.  I know 

What  you  have  done.  You  have  brought  up  the  child. 
Syrus.  Madam,  if  so,  my  master  gains  a loss. 

SosTRA.  No,  I have  not : but  there  was  at  that  time 
An  old  Corinthian  woman  dwelling  here. 

To  whom  I gave  the  child  to  be  expos’d. 

Chrem.  O Jupiter!  was  ever  such  a fool! 

SosTRA.  Ah,  what  have  I committed? 

Chrem.  What  committed! 

SosTRA.  If  I’ve  offended,  Chremes,  ’tis  a crime 
Of  ignorance,  and  nothing  of  my  purpose. 

Chrem.  Own  it  or  not,  I know  it  well  enough, 

That  ignorantly,  and  imprudently. 

You  do  and  say  all  things  ; how  many  faults 
In  this-  one  action  are  you  guilty  of! 

For  first,  had  you  complied  with  my  commands. 

The  girl  had  been  dispatch’d  ; and  not  her  death 
Pretended,  and  hopes  given  of  her  life. 

But  that  I do  not  dwell  upon  : You’ll  cry, 

— Pity, — a mother’s  fondness, — I allow  it. 

But  then  how  rarely  you  provided  for  her! 


474 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOE.  [Act  111.,  [yc.  ViL 


What  could  you  mean  ? consider ! — for  ’tis  plain. 

You  have  betray’d  3^our  child  to  that  old  beldam, 

Either  for  prostitution,  or  for  sale. 

So  she  but  liv’d,  it  was  enough,  you  thought : 

No  matter  how,  or  what  vile  life  she  led. 

— What  can  one  do,  or  how  proceed,  with  those. 

Who  know  of  neither  reason,  right,  nor  justice? 

Better  or  worse,  for  or  against,  they  see 
Nothing  but  what  they  list. 

SosTRA.  My  dearest  Chremes, 

I own  I have  offended : I’m  convinc’d. 

But  since  you’re  more  experienc’d  than  myself, 

I pray  you  be  the  more  indulgent  too. 

And  let  my  weakness  shelter  in  your  justice. 

Cheem.  Well,  well,  I pardon  you  : but,  Sostrata, 
Forgiving  you  thus  easily,  I do 
But  teach  3^011  to  offend  again.  But  come, 

Saj^,  wherefore  you  began  this? 

SosTRA.  As  we  women 
Are  generally  weak  and  superstitious. 

When  first  to  this  Corinthian  old  woman 
I gave  the  little  infant,  from  my  finger 
I drew  a ring,  and  charg’d  her  to  expose 
That  with  my  daughter : that  if  chance  she  died. 

She  might  have  part  of  our  possessions  with  her. 

CiiREM.  ’Twas  right:  you  thus  preserv’d  yourself  and  her. 
SosTRA.  This  is  that  ring. 

Chrem.  Where  had  it  you  ? 

SosTRA.  The  girl 

That  Bacchis  brought  with  her 

Syrus.  Ha  I {Aside.) 

Chrem.  What  says  she  ? 

SosTRA.  Desir’d  I’d  keep  it  while  she  went  to  bathe. 

I took  no  notice  on’t,  at  first ; but  I 
No  sooner  look’d  on’t  than  I knew’t  again. 

And  straight  ran  out  to  3"ou. 

Chrem.  And  what  d’ye  think. 

Or  know  concerning  her? 

SosTRA.  I can  not  tell. 

Till  you  inquire  it  of  herself,  and  find. 

If  possible,  from  whence  she  had  the  ring. 

Syrus.  Undone ! I sec  more  hope  than  I desire. 

She’s  ours,  if  this  be  so.  {Aside.) 

Chrem.  Is  she  alive 
To  whom  you  gave  the  child? 

SosTRA.  I do  not  know. 

Chrem.  What  did  she  tell  you  formerly  ? 

SosTRA.  That  she 
Had  done  what  I commanded  her. 

Chrem.  Her  name ; 

That  we  may  make  inquiry. 


Act  IV,,  8(’.  IT.]  THE  SELE-TORMENTOE. 


475 


SosTRA.  Philterc. 

Syrus.  The  very  same  ! she’s  found,  and  I am  lost. 

(H.s-iV/e.) 

CiiREM.  In  with  me,  Sostrata  ! 

SosTRA.  Beyond  my  hopes. 

How  much  I fear’d  you  should  continue  still 
So  rigidly  inclin’d,  as  formerly. 

When  you  refus’d  to  educate  her,  Chremes ! 

CiiREM.  Men  can  not  always  be  as  they  desire, 

But  must  be  govern’d  by  their  fortunes  still. 

The  times  are  alter’d  with  me,  and  I wish 
To  have  a daughter  now  ; then,  nothing  less. 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 

Scene  I. 

Syrus,  alone. 

My  mind  misgives  me,  my  defeat  is  nigh. 

This  unexpected  incident  has  driven 
My  forces  into  such  a narrow  pass, 

I can  not  even  handsomely  retreat 
Without  some  feint,  to  hinder  our  old  man 
From  seeing  that  this  wench  is  Clitipho’s. 

As  for  the  mone}^,  and  the  trick  I dream’d  of, 

Those  hopes  are  flown,  and  I shall  hold  it  triumph, 

So  I but  ’scape  a scouring — Cursed  fortune, 

To  have  so  delicate  a morsel  snatch’d 
Out  of  my  very  jaws  ! — What  shall  I do  ? 

What  new  device  ? for  I must  change  my  plan. 

— Nothing  so  difficult,  but  may  be  won 
By  industry. — Suppose,  I try  it  thus.  (Thinking.') 

— ^’Twill  never  do. — Or  thus  ? — No  better  still. 

But  thus  I think. — No,  no. — Yes,  excellent ! 

Courage  ! I have  it. — Good  I — Good  I — best  of  all ! — 

— ’Faith,  I begin  to  hope  to  lay  fast  hold 
Of  that  same  slipp’ry  money  after  all. 

Scene  II. 

Enter  Clinia  at  another  jiart  of  the  stage. 

Clin.  Henceforward,  fate,  do  with  me  what  thou  wilt ! 
Such  is  my  joy,  so  full  and  absolute, 

I can  not  know  vexation.  From  this  hour 
To  you,  my  father,  I resign  myself. 

Content  to  be  more  frugal  than  you  wish  ! 

Simus  {overhearing).  ’Tis  just  as  I suppos’d.  The  girl’s 
acknowledged  ; 


THE  SELF-TOHMENTOE. 


^Act  IV 


47G 


His  ra]:)tures  speak  it  so. — {Going  vp.)  I’m  overjoyed 
That  things  have  happen’d  to  your  wish. 

Clin.  O Syrus! 

Have  you  then  heard  it  too? 

Syrus.  I heard  it?  Aye: 

I,  who  was  present  at  the  very  time ! 

Clin.  Was  ever  any  thing  so  lucky? 

Syrus.  Nothing. 

Clin.  Now,  Heav’n  so  help  me,  I rejoice  at  this 
On  her  account  much  rather  than  my  own, 

Her,  whom  I know  worthy  the  highest  honors. 

Syrus.  No  doubt  on’t. — But  now,  Clinia,  hold  a while ! 
Give  me  a moment’s  hearing  in  my  turn. 

For  your  friend’s  business  must  be  thought  of  now, 

And  well  secur’d,  lest  our  old. gentleman 
Suspect  about  the  wench. 

Clin.  O Jupiter  ! (In  raptures.) 

Syrus.  Peace ! {Impatlentlij.') 

Clin.  My  Antiphila  shall  be  my  Avife. 

Syrus.  And  wdll  you  interrupt  me  ? 

Clin.  Oh,  my  Syrus, 

What  can  I do!  I’m  overjoy’d.  Bear  with  me. 

Syrus.  Troth  so  I do. 

Clin.  We’re  happy,  as  the  Gods. 

Syrus.  I lose  my  labor  on*you. 

Clin.  Speak ; I hear. 

Syrus.  Aye,  but  you  don’t  attend. 

Clin.  I’m  all  attention. 

Syrus.  I say  then,  Clinia,  that  your  friend’s  affairs 
Must-be  attended  to,  and  well  secur’d  : 

For  if  you  now  depart  abruptly  from  us. 

And  leave  the  wench  upon  our  hands,  my  master 
Will  instantly  discover  she  belongs 
To  Clitipho.  But  if  you  take  her  off, 

It  will  remain,  as  still  it  is,  a secret. 

Clin.  But,  Syrus,  this  is  flatly  opposite 
To  what  I most  devoutly  wish,  my  marriage, 

For  with  what  face  shall  1 accost  my  father? 

D’ye  understand  me? 

Syrus.  Aye. 

Clin.  What  can  I say? 

What  reason  can  I give  him? 

Syrus.  Tell  no  lie. 

Speak  the  plain  truth. 

Clin.  How? 

Syrus.  Every  syllable. 

Tell  him  your  passion  for  Antiphila; 

Tell  him  you  wish  to  marry  her,  and  tell  him 
Bacchis  belongs  to  Clitipho. 

Clin.  ’Tis  Avell, 

In  reason,  and  may  easily  be  done: 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOK. 


477 


And  then  besides  you’d  have  me  win  my  father, 

To  keep  it  hid  from  your  old  c^entleman. 

Syrus.  No  ; rather  to  prevail  on  him,  to  go 
And  tell  him  the  whole  truth  immediately. 

Cltx.  How?  are  you  mad?  or  drunk?  You’ll  bo  the  ruin 
Of  Clitipho  : for  how  can  he  be  safe  ? 

Eh,  Sirrah  ! 

Syrus.  That’s  my  master-piece  : this  plot 
Is  my  chief  glory,  and  I’m  proud  to  think 
I have  such  force,  such  power  of. cunning  in  me, 

As  to  be  able  to  deceive  them  both, 

By  speaking  the  plain  truth  : that  when  your  father 
Tells  Chremes,  Bacchis  is  his  own  son's  mistress. 

He  sha’n’t  believe  it. 

Clix.  But  that  way  again 

You  blast  my  hopes  of  marriage  : for  while  Chremes 

Supposes  her  my  mistress,  he’ll  not  grant 

His  daughter  to  me.  You,  perhaps,  don’t  care, 

So  you  provide  for  him,  what  comes  of  me. 

Syrus.  Why,  ])lague  I d’ye  think  I’d  have  you  counterfeit 
Forever?  but  a day,  to  give  me  time 
To  bubble  Chreme.s  of  the  money. — Peace  ! 

Not  an  hour  more. 

Clix.  Is  that  sufficient  for  you  ? 

But  then,  suppose  his  father  find  it  out ! 

Syrus.  Suppose,  as  some  folks  say,  the  sky  should  fall  I 
Clix.  Still  I’m  afraid. 

Si'RUS.  Afraid  indeed,  as  if 
It  was  not  in  your  pow’r,  whene'er  you  pleas’d, 

To  clear  yourself,  and  tell  the  whole  affair. 

Clin.  Well,  well,  let  Bacchis  be  brought  over  then ! 

Sy'rus.  Well  said  ; and  here  she  comes. 

Scene  HI. 

Enter  Bacchis,  Piiry'GIA,  etc.,  at  another  part  of  the  stage. 

Baccit.  Upon  my  life. 

This  Syrus  with  his  golden  promises 
Has  fool’d  me  hither  charmingly ! Ten  mime 
He  gave  me  full  assurance  of : but  if 
He  now  deceives  me,  come  whene’er  he  will. 

Canting  and  fawning  to  allure  me  hither, 

It  shall  be  all  in  vain  ; I will  not  stir. 

Or  when  I have  agreed,  and  fix’d  a time, 

Of  which  he  shall  have  giv’n  his  master  notice, 

And  Clitipho  is  all  agog  with  hope. 

I’ll  fairly  jilt  them  both,  and  not  come  near  them  5 
And  master  Syrus’  back  shall  smart  for  it. 

Clin.  She  promises  you  very  fair. 

Syrus.  D’ye  think 

She  jests  ? She’ll  do  it,  if  I don’t  take  heed. 


478 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


[Act  IV 


Baccii.  They  sleep  : i’  faith,  I’ll  rouse  them.  Hark  ye, 
Phrygia, 

Didst  note  the  villa  of  Chariniis,  which 
That  fellow  just  now  show’d  us  ? {Aloud.) 

Phry.  I (iid.  Madam. 

Bacch.  The  next  house  on  the  right  hand.  {Aloud.) 
Phry.  I remember. 

Bacch.  Run  thither  quickly  : for  the  Captain  spends 
The  Dionysia  there.  {Aloud.) 

Syrus  {behind).  What  means  she  now? 

Bacch.  Tell  him  I’m  here ; and  sore  against  my  will. 
Detain’d  by  force  ; but  that  I’ll  find  some  means 
To  slip  away  and  come  to  him.  {Aloud.) 

Syrus.  Confusion! — {Comes  forward.) 

Stay,  Bacchis,  Bacchis ! whore  d’ye  send  that  girl  ? 

Bid  her  stop! 

Bacch.  Go!  {To  Phrygia.) 

Syrus.  The  money’s  ready. 

Bacch.  Then 

I stay.  (Phrygia  returns.) 

Syrus.  This  instant  you  shall  have  it,  Bacchis. 

Bacch.  When  you  please  ; I don’t  press  you. 

Syrus.  But  d'ye  know 
What  you’re  to  do  ? 

Bacch.  Why,  what? 

Syrus.  You  must  go  over, 

You  and  your  equipage,  to  Mcnedemus. 

Bacch.  AVhat  are  you  at  now,  sauce-box? 

Syrus.  Coining  money 
For  your  use,  Bacchis. 

Bacch.  Do  you  think  to  play 
Your  jests  on  me  ? 

Syrus.  No  ; this  is  downright  earnest. 

Bacch.  Are  you  the  person  I’m  to  deal  with  ? 

Syrus.  No. 

But  there  I’ll  pay  the  money. 

Bacch.  Let  us  go  then! 

Syrus.  Follow  her  there. Ho,  Dromo ! 

Scene  IV. 

Enter  Dromo. 

Dromo.  Who  calls  ? 

Syrus.  Syrus. 

Dromo.  Your  pleasure ! What’s  the  matter  now  ? 
Syrus.  Conduct 

All  Bacchis’  maids  to  your  house  instantly. 

Dromo.  Why  so  ? 

Syrus.  No  questions : let  them  carry  over 
All  they  brought  hither.  Our  old  gentleman 


Sc.  y.] 


THE  SELF-TOUMENTOK. 


479 


Will  think  himself  reliev’d  from  much  expense 
By  their  departure.  Troth,  he  little  knows 
With  how  much  loss  this  small  gain  threatens  him. 

If  you’re  wdse,  Dromo,  know  not  what  you  know. 

Dromo.  I’m  dumb. 

(Exit  Dromo,  ivlth  Bacciiis’  servants  and  baggage^  into 
the  house  of  Menedemus. 

Scene  V. 

After  which^  enter  Ciiremes. 

Chrem.  (to  himself').  ’Fore  Heav’n,  I pity  Menedemus. 

His  case  is  lamentable:  to  maintain 
That  jade  and  all  her  harlot  family ! 

Although  I know  for  some  few'  days  to  come 
He  w'ill  not  feel  it ; so  exceedingly 
He  long’d  to  have  his  son:  but  wdien  he  sees 
Such  monstrous  household  riot  and  expense 
Continue  daily,  wdthout  end  or  measure, 

He’ll  wish  his  son  away  from  him  again. 

But  yonder’s  Syrus  in  good  time.  (Seeing  Syrus.) 

Syrus.  I’ll  to  him.  (Aside.) 

Chrem.  Syrus ! 

Syrus.  Who’s  there?  (Turning  about.) 

Chrem.  What  now? 

Syrus.  The  very  man ! 

I have  been  w'ishing  for  you  this  long  time. 

Chrem.  You  seem  to’ve  been  at  work  with  the  old  man. 
Syrus.  What ! at  our  plot  ? No  sooner  said  than  done. 
Chrem.  Indeed ! 

Syrus.  Indeed. 

Chrem.  I can’t  forbear  to  stroke 
Your  head  for  it.  Good  lad ! come  nearer,  Syrus ! 

I’ll  do  thee  some  good  turn  for  this.  I will, 

I promise  you.  (Patting  his  head.) 

Syrus.  Ah,  if  you  did  but  know 
How  luckily  it  came  into  my  head! 

Chrem.  Pshaw',  are  you  vain,  of  your  good  luck? 

Syrus.  Not  I. 

I speak  the  plain  truth. 

Chrem.  Let  me  know’’  it  then. 

Syrus.  Clinia  has  told  his  father  that  the  w'ench 
Is  mistress  to  your  Clitiplio  ; and  that 
He  brought  her  with  him  hither,  to  prevent 
Your  smoking  it. 

Chrem.  Incomparable ! 

Syrus.  Beally? 

Chrem.  O,  admirable! 

Syrus.  Aye,  if  you  knew  all. 

But  only  hear  the  rest  of  our  advice. 


480 


THE  SELF-TOEMENTOK. 


[Act  1Y. 


He’ll  tell  his  father  he  has  seen  your  daughter, 

Whose  beauty  has  so  charm’d  him  at  first  sight, 

He  longs  to  marry  her. 

Chrem.  Antiphila? 

Syrus.  The  same  : and  he’ll  request  him  to  demand  her 
Of  you  in  marriage. 

Chrem.  To  what  purpose,  Syrus  ? 

I don’t  conceive  the  drift  on’t. 

Syrus.  No!  you’re  slow. 

Chrem.  Perhaps  so. 

Syrus.  Menedemus  instantly 
Will  furnish  him  with  money  for  the  wedding, 

To  buy d’ye  take  me  ? 

Chrem.  Clothes  and  jewels. 

Syrus.  Aye. 

Chrem.  But  I will  neither  marry,  nor  betroth 
My  daughter  to  him. 

Syrus.  No?  Why? 

Chrem.  Why! — is  that 

A question  ? to  a wretch  ! 

Syrus.  Well,  as  you  please. 

I never  meant  that  he  should  marry  her, 

But  only  to  pretend 

Chrem.  I hate  pretense. 

Plot  as  you  please,  but  do  not  render  me 
An  engine  in  your  rogueries.  Shall  I 
Contract  my  daughter,  where  I never  can 
Consent  to  marry  her  ? 

Syrus.  I fancied  so. 

Chrem.  Not  I. 

Syrus.  It  might  be  done  most  dextrously; 

And,  in  obedience  to  your  strict  commands, 

I undertook  this  business. 

Chrem.  I believe  it. 

Syrus.  However,  Sir,  I meant  it  well. 

Chrem.  Nay,  nay, 

Do’t  by  all  means,  and  spar?  no  trouble  in’t ; 

But  bring  your  scheme  to  bear  some  other  way. 

Syrus.  It  shall  be  done : I’ll  think  upon  some  other. 

— But  then  the  money  which  I mention’d  to  you, 

Owing  to  Bacchis  by  Antiphila, 

Must  be  repaid  her:  and  you  will  not  now 
Attempt  to  shift  the  matter  off;  or  say, 

“ — What  is’t  to  me?  was  I the  borrower? 

Did  I command  it?  Could  she  pledge  my  daughter 

Against  my  will  ?” You  can  say  none  of  this  ; 

For  ’tis  a common  saying,  and  a true. 

That  strictest  law  is  oft  the  highest  wrong. 

Chrem.  I mean  not  to  evade  it. 

Syrus.  No,  I’ll  warrant. 

Nay  you,  though  others  did,  could  never  think  on’t ; 


Sc  VI.J 


THE  SELF-TOEMENTOK. 


481 


For  all  the  world  imagines  you’ve  acquir’d 
A fair  and  handsome  fortune. 

Chrem.  I will  carry 
The  money  to  her  instantly  myself. 

Syrus.  No  ; rather  send  it  by  your  son. 

Chrem.  Why  so ! 

Syrus.  Because  he  acts  the  part  of  her  gallant. 

Chrem.  What  then? 

Syrus.  Why  then  ’twill  seem  more  probable, 

If  he  presents  it:  I too  shall  eifect 

My  scheme  more  easily. — And  here  he  is. 

— In,  Sir,  and  fetch  the  money  out. 

Chrem.  I wdll.  {Exit  Chremes. 

Scene  YI. 

Enter  Clitipho. 

Clip,  {to  himself^.  Nothing  so  easy  in  itself,  but  when 
Perform’d  against  one’s  will,  grows  difficult. 

This  little  walk  how  easy!  yet  how  faint 
And  weary  it  has  made  me! — and  I fear 
Lest  I be  still  excluded,  and  forbid 

To  come  near  Bacchis.  {Seeing  Syrus.) — Now  all  powers  above. 
Confound  you,  Syrus,  for  the  trick  you  play’d  me ! 

That  brain  of  yours  is  evermore  contriving 
Some  villainy  to  torture  me  wdthal. 

Syrus.  Away,  you  malapert!  Your  frowardness 
Had  well-nigh  ruin’d  me. 

Clip.  I would  it  had, 

As  you  deserv’d! 

Syrus.  As  I deserv’d! — How’s  that? — 
r faith  I’m  glad  I heard  you  say  so  much 
Before  you  touch’d  the  cash,  that  I v/as  just 
About  to  give  you. 

Clip.  Why,  what  can  I say? 

You  went  away;  came  back,  beyond  my  hopes. 

And  brought  my  mistress  with  you ; then  again 
Forbade  my  touching  her. 

Syrus.  Well,  well,  I can’t 
Be  peevish  with  you  now — But  do  you  know 
Where  Bacchis  is? 

Clip.  At  our  house. 

Syrus.  No. 

Clip.  Where  then? 

Syrus.  At  Clinia’s. 

Clip.  Then  I’m  ruin’d. 

Syrus.  Courage,  man! 

You  shall  go  to  her  instantly,  and  carry 
The  money  that  you  promis’d  her. 

Clip.  Fine  talk! 

"^Yhere  should  I get  it? 

X 


'1 


482 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


[Act  IV. 


Syrus.  From  your  father. 

Clit.  Pshaw! 

You  play  upon  me. 

Sykus.  The  event  shall  show. 

Clit.  Then  I am  bless’d  indeed.  Thanks,  thanks,  dear 
Syrus I 

Syrus.  Hist ! here’s  your  father. — Have  a care ! don’t  seem 
Surpris’d  at  any  thing : give  way  in  all ; 

Do  as  he  bids,  and  say  but  little.  Mum!  , 

Scene  VII. 

Enter  Chremes. 

Chrem.  Where’s  Clitipho? 

Syrus  {to  Clitipho).  Here,  say. 

Clit.  Here,  Sir! 

Chrem.  Have  you 

Inform’d  him  of  the  business?  {To  Syrus.) 

Syrus.  In  good  part. 

Chrem.  Here,  take  the  money  then,  and  carry  it. 

{To  Clitipho.) 

Syrus.  Plague,  how  you  stand,  log! — take  it. 

Clit.  Give  it  me.  {Awkwardly .) 

Syrus.  Now  in  with  me  immediately! — You,  Sir, 

{To  Chremes.) 

Be  pleas’d  meanwhile  to  wait  our  coming  here; 

There’s  nothing  to  detain  us  very  long. 

{Exit  Clitipho  and  Syrus. 

Scene  VIII. 

Chre3Ies  alone. 

My  daughter  now  has  had  ten  mina3  of  me. 

Which  I account  laid  out  upon  her  board : 

Ten  more  her  clothes  will  come  to:  and  moreover 

Two  talents  for  her  portion. How  unjust 

And  absolute  is  custom!  I must  now 
Leave  every  thing,  and  find  a stranger  out. 

On  whom  I may  bestow  the  sum  of  wealth 
Which  I have  so  much  labor’d  to  acquire. 

Scene  IX. 

Enter  Menedemus. 

Mene.  {to  hiniself).  Oh  son,  how  happy  hast  thou  made  thy 
father. 

Convinc’d  of  thy  repentance ! 

Chrem.  {overhearing).  How  mistaken ! 

Meke.  Chremes!  I wish’d  for  you.— ’Tis  in  your  pov/er. 


Sc.  IX.] 


THE  8ELE-l’OUMENT0K. 


483 


And  I beseech  you  do  it,  to  preserve 
My  son,  myself,  and  family. 

Chrem.  I’ll  do’t. 

Wherein  can  I oblige  you? 

Mene.  You  to-day 
Have  found  a daughter. 

Chrem.  True.  What  then? 

Mene.  My  Clinia 
Begs  your  consent  to  marry  her. 

Chrem.  Good  Heaven ! 

What  kind  of  man  are  you? 

Mene.  What  mean  you,  Chremes? 

Chrem.  Has  it  then  slipp’d  your  memory  so  soon, 
Ihe  conversation  that  we  had  together. 

Touching  the  rogueries  they  should  devise, 

To  trick  you  of  your  money  ? 

Mene.  I remember. 

Chrem.  This  is  the  trick. 

Mene.  How,  Chremes?  I’m  deceiv’d. 

Tis  as  you  say.  From  what  a pleasing  hope 
Have  I then  fall’nl  ^ ^ 

Chrem.  And  she,  I warrant  you, 

Now  at  your  house,  is  my  son’s  mistress?  Eh» 

Mene.  So  they  say. 

Chrem.  What!  and  you  believ’d  it? 

Mene.  All. 

Chrem.  -—And  they  say  too  he  wants  to  marry  her: 
Ihat  soon  as  I ve  consented,  vou  may  give  him 
Money  to  furnish  her  with  jewels,  clothes 
And  other  necessaries.  * 

Mene.  Aye,  ’tis  so: 

The  monej^’s  for  his  mistress. 

Chrem.  To  be  sure. 

Mene.  Alas,  my  transports  are  all  groundless  then, 
let  I would  rather  bear  with  any  thing 

What  answer,  Chremes, 

Shall  I return  with,  that  he  mayn’t  perceive 
1 ve  found  him  out,  and  take  offense  ^ 

Chrem.  Offense! 

YouVe  too  indulgent  to  him,  Menedemus! 

Mene.  Allow  me.  I’ve  begun,  and  must  go  through. 
Do  but  continue  to  assist  me.  uueugn, 

Chrem.  Say, 

‘he  match. 

Mene.  Well;  and  what  else? 

Chrem.  That  I give  full  consent; 

1 hat  I approve  my  son-in-law ; — In  short 
You  may  assure  him  also,  if  you  please,  ' 

That  I ve  betroth’d  my  daughter  to  him 
Mene.  Good ! 

The  thing  I wanted. 


484 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


[Act  V. 


Chrem.  So  shall  he  the  sooner 
Demand  the  money;  you,  as  you  desire, 

The  sooner  give. 

Mene.  ’Tis  my  desire  indeed. 

Chrem.  ’Troth,  friend,  as  far  as  I can  judge  of  this, 
You’ll  soon  be  weary  of  your  son  again. 

But  as  the  case  now  stands,  give  cautiously, 

A little  at  a time,  if  you  are  wise. 

Mene.  I will. 

Chrem.  Go  in,  and  see  what  he  demands. 

If  you  should  want  me,  I’m  at  home. 

Mene.  ’Tis  well. 

For  I shall  let  you  know,  do  what  I will.  {Exeunt  severally. 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 

Scene  I. 

Menedemus  alone. 

That  I’m  not  overwise,  no  conjurer, 

I know  full  well : but  my  assistant  here, 

And  counselor,  and  grand  controller  Chremes, 

Outgoes  me  far : dolt,  blockhead,  ninny,  ass ; 

Or  these,  or  any  other  common  terms 
By  which  men  speak  of  fools,  befit  me  well : 

But  him  they  suit  not : his  stupidity 
Is  so  transcendent,  it  exceeds  them  all. 

Scene  II. 

Enter  Chremes. 

Chrem.  (to  Sostrata,  ivitUii).  Nay  prithee,  good  wife,  ceas 
to  stun  the  Gods 

With  thanking  them  that  you  have  found  your  daughter; 
Unless  you  fancy  they  are  like  yourself. 

And  think  they  can  not  understand  a thing 
Unless  said  o’er  and  o’er  a hundred  times. 

— But  meanwhile  {coming  forward)  wherefore  do  my  son  an 
Syrus 

Loiter  so . long  ? 

Mene.  Who  are  those  loiterers,  Chremes  ? * 

Chrem.  Ha,  Menedemus,  are  you  there? — Inform  me, 
Have  you  told  Clinia  what  I said  ? 

Mene.  The  whole. 

Chrem.  And  what  said  he? 

Mene.  Grew  quite  transported  at.  it, 

Like  these  who  wish  for  marnage. 


Sc.  IL] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


485 


CiiREM.  Ila  ! lia  ! ha  ! 

Mene.  What  do  you  laugh  at  ? 

Chrem.  I was  thinking  of 

The  cunning  rogueries  of  that  slave,  Syrus.  (^Laughing.') 
Mene.  Oh,  was  that  it  ? 

Chrem.  Why,  he  can  form  and  mould 
The  very  visages  of  men,  a rogue ! {Laughing.') 

Mene.  Meaning  my  son’s  well-acted  transport  ? 

Chrem.  Aye.  {Laughing.) 

Mene.  The  very  same  thing  I was  thinking  of. 
Chrem.  A subtle  villain ! {Laughing.) 

Mene.  Nay,  if  you  knew  more, 

You’d  be  still  more  convinc’d  on’t. 

Chrem.  Say  you  so  ? 

Mene.  Aye;  do  but  hear. 

Chrem.  {laughing).  Hold ! hold ! inform  me  first 
How  much  you’re  out  of  pocket.  For  as  soon 
As  you  inform’d  your  son  of  my  consent, 

Dromo,  I warrant,  gave  you  a broad  hint 

That  the  bride  wanted  jewels,  clothes,  attendants ; 

That  you  might  pay  the  money. 

Mene.  No. 

Chrem.  How  ? No  ? 

Mene.  No,  I say. 

Chrem.  What ! nor  Ciinia  ? 

Mene.  Not  a word ; 

But  only  press’d  the  marriage  for  to-day. 

Chrem.  Amazing! — But  our  Syrus?  Did  not  he 
Throw  in  a word  or  two  ? 

Mene.  Not  he. 

Chrem.  How  so  ? 

Mene.  Faith  I can’t  tell : but  I’m  amaz’d  that  you, 
Who  see  so  clearly  into  all  the  rest, 

Should  stick  at  this. — But  that  arch  villain  Syrrs 
Has  form’d  and  moulded  your  son  too  so  rarely. 

That  nobody  can  have  the  least  suspicion 
That  this  is  Clinia’s  mistress. 

Chrem.  How  ? 

Mene.  I pass 

Their  kisses  and  embraces.  All  that’s  nothing. 

Chrem.  What  is  there  more  than  he  can  ? 

Mene.  Ah  ! {Smiling.) 

Chrem.  What  d’ye  mean  ? 

Mene.  Nay,  do  but  hear.  I have 
A private  snug  apartment,  a back  room. 

Whither  a bed  was  brought  and  made. 

ChreMj  What  then  ? 

Mene.  No  sooner  done,  than  in  went  Clitipho* 

Chrem.  Alone? 

Mene.  Alone. 

Chrem.  I tremble. 


486 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


[Act  V, 


Mene.  Bacchis  follow’d. 

Chrem.  Alone  ? 

Mene.  Alone. 

Chrem.  Undone ! 

Mene.  No  sooner  in, 

Put  they  made  fast  the  door. 

Chrem.  Ha ! And  was  Clinia 
Witness  to  this  ? 

Mene.  He  was. — Both  he  and  I. 

Chrem.  Bacchis  is  my  son’s  mistress,  Menedemus. 

I’m  ruin’d. 

Mene.  Why  d’ye  think  so  ? 

Chrem.  Mine  is  scarce 
A ten-days’  family. 

Mene.  What  are  you  dismay’d 
Because  he  sticks  so  closely  to  his  friend  ? 

Chrem.  Friend  ! His  she-friend. 

Mene.  If  so 

Chrem.  Is  that  a doubt? 

Is  any  man  so  courteous,  and  so  patient, 

As  tamely  to  stand  by  and  see  his  mistress 

Mene.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Why  not? — That  I,  you  know, 
Might  be  more  easily  impos’d  upon.  {Ironically,') 

Chrem.  D’ye  laugh  at  me  ? I’m  angry  with  myself : 
And  well  I may.  How  many  circumstances 
Conspir’d  to  make  it  gross  and  palpable, 

Had  I not  been  a stone ! — What  things  I saw ! 

Fool,  fool ! But  by  my  life  Til  be  reveng’d : 

For  now 

Mene.  And  can’t  you  then  contain  yourself? 

Have  you  no  self-respect  ? And  am  not  I 
A full  example  for  you  ? 

Chrem.  Menedemus, 

My  anger  throws  me  quite  beside  myself. 

Mene.  That  you  should  talk  thus ! is  it  not  a shame 
To  be  so  lib’ral  of  advice  to  others. 

So  wise  abroad,  and  poor  in  sense  at  home  ? 

Chrem.  What  shall  I do  ? 

Mene.  That  which  but  even  now 
You  counsel’d  me  to  do : Give  him  to  know 
That  you’re  indeed  a father : let  him  dare 
Trust  his  whole  soul  to  you,  seek,  ask  of  you  ; 

Lest  he  to  others  have  recourse,  and  leave  you. 

Chrem.  And  let  him  go  ; go  where  he  will ; much  rather 
Than  here  by  his  extravagance  reduce 
His  father  to  distress  and  beggary. 

For  if  I should  continue  to  supply 
The  course  of  his  expenses,  Menedemus, 

Your  desp’rate  rakes  would  be  my  lot  indeed. 

Mene.  Ah,  to  what  evils  you’ll  expose  yourself. 

Unless  you’re  cautious ! You  will  seem  severe, 


Sc.  IL] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


487 


And  yet  forgive  him  afterward,  and  then 
With  an  ill  grace  too. 

Chrem.  Ah,  you  do  not  know 
How  much  this  grieves  me. 

Mene.  Well,  well,  take  your  way. 

But  tell  me,  do  you  grant  me  my  request 
That  this  your  new-found  daughter  wed  my  son  ? 

Or  is  there  aught  more  welcome  to  you? 

Chrem.  Nothing. 

The  son-in-law  and  the  alliance  please  me. 

Mene.  What  portion  shall  I tell  my  son  3mu’ve  settled ! 
Why  are  you  silent? 

Chrem.  Portion ! 

Mene.  Aye,  what  portion? 

Chrem.  Ah! 

Mene.  Fear  not,  Chremes,  though  it  be  but  small : 

The  portion  nothing  moves  us. 

Chrem.  I propos’d, 

According  to  my  fortune,  that  two  talents 
Were  full  sufficient : But  you  now  must  saj". 

If  you’d  save  me,  my  fortune,  and  my  son, 

That  I have  settled  all  I have  upon  her. 

Mene.  What  mean  j^ou? 

Chrem.  Counterfeit  amazement  too, 

And  question  Clitipho  my  reason  for  it. 

Mene.  Nay,  but  I really  do  not  know  your  reason. 
Chrem.  My  reason  for  it? — That  his  wanton  mind, 

Now  flush’d  with  lux’ry  and  lasciviousness, 

I may  o’erwhelm:  and  bring  him  down  so  low, 

He  may  not  know  which  way  to  turn  himself. 

Mene.  What  are  you  at? 

Chrem.  Allow  me  I let  me  have 
My  own  way  in  this  business. 

Mene.  I allow  you. 

Is  it  your  pleasure? 

Chrem.  It  is. 

Mene.  Be  it  so. 

Chrem.  Come  then,  let  Clinia  haste  to  call  the  bride. 
And  for  this  son  of  mine,  he  shall  be  school’d. 

As  children  ought. — But  Sjtus! 

Mene.  What  of  him? 

Chrem.  What ! I’ll  so  handle  him,  so  curry  him, 

That  while  he  lives  hevMiall  remember  me. 

(A'orii  Menedemus, 

What,  make  a jest  of  me  ? a laughing-stock  ? 

Now,  afore  Heav’n,  he  would  not  dare  to  treat 
A poor  lone  widow  as  he  treated  me. 


488 


THE  SELF~TORMENTOE. 


[Act  V. 


Scene  HI. 

Re-enter  Menedemus,  with  Clitipiio  and  Syrus. 

Clit.  And  ean  it,  Menedemus,  can  it  be. 

My  father  has  so  suddenly  cast  off’ 

All  natural  aff’ection?  for  what  act? 

What  crime,  alas!  so  heinous  have  I done? 

It  is  a common  failing. 

Mene.  This  I know. 

Should  be  more  heavy  and  severe  to  you 
On  whom  it  falls:  and  yet  am  I no  less 
Affected  by  it,  though  I know  not  why. 

And  have  no  other  reason  for  my  grief, 

But  that  I wish  you  well. 

Clit.  Did  not  you  say 
My  father  waited  here  ? 

Mene.  Aye  ; there  he  is.  (^Exit  Menedemus. 

Chrem.  Why  d’ye  accuse  your  father,  Clitipho? 
Whate’er  I’ve  done,  was  providently  done 
Tow’rd  you  and  your  imprudence.  AYhen  I saw 
Your  negligence  of  soul,  and  that  you  held 
The  pleasures  of  to-day  your  only  care. 

Regardless  of  the  morrow ; I found  means 

That  you  should  neither  want,  nor  waste  my  siib«tance. 

When  you,  whom  fair  succession  first  made  heir, 

Stood  self-degraded  by  unworthiness, 

I went  to  those  the  next  in  blood  to  you, 

Committing  and  consigning  all  to  them. 

There  shall  your  weakness,  Clitipho,  be  sure 
Ever  to  find  a refuge  ; food,  and  raiment. 

And  roof  to  fly  to. 

Clit.  Ah  me ! 

Chrem.  Better  thus. 

Than,  you  being  heir,  for  Bacchis  to  have  all. 

Syrus.  Distraction ! what  disturbances  have  I, 

Wretch  that  I am,  all  unawares  created ! 

Clit.  Would  I were  dead  ! 

Chrem.  Learn  first  what  His  to  live. 

When  you  know  that,  if  life  displeases  you, 

Then  talk  of  dying. 

Syrus.  Master,  may  I speak  ? 

Chrem.  Speak. 

Syrus.  But  with  safety  ? 

Chrem.  Speak. 

Syrus.  How  wrong  is  this. 

Or  rather  what  extravagance  and  madness. 

To  punish  him  for  my  offense ! 

Chrem.  Away! 

Do  not  you  meddle.  No  one  blames  you,  Syrus! 


Sc.  IV.J 


TilK  SELF-TOUMENTOK. 


489 


Nor  need  you  to  ju'ovidc  a sanctuary, 

Or  intercessor. 

Syrus.  What  is  it  you  do  ? 

Chrem.  I am  not  ano^ry,  nor  with  you,  nor  him  : 
Nor  should  you  take  offense  at  what  I do. 

{Exit  Chremes. 


Scene  IV. 

Syrus.  He’s  gone.  Ah,  would  I’d  ask’d  him 

Clit.  Ask’d  what,  Syrus  ? 

Syrus.  Where  I should  eat,  since  he  has  cast  us  off. 
You,  I perceive,  are  quarter’d  on  your  sister. 

Clit.  Is’t  come  to  this,  that  I should  be  in  fear 
Of  starving,  Syrus  ? 

Syrus.  So  we  do  but  live. 

There’s  hope 

Clit.  Of  what  ? 

Syrus.  That  w'e  shall  have  rare  stomachs. 

Clit.  D’ye  jest  at  such  a time  as  this  ; 

And  lend  me  no  assistance  by  your  counsel  ?. 

Syrus.  Nay,  I was  studying  for  you  even  now, 

And  was  so  all  the  while  yoiir  father  spoke. 

And  far  as  I can  understand  this 

Clit.  What  ? 

Syrus.  Stay,  you  shall  have  it  presently.  {Thinking.) 
Clit.  Well,  what? 

Syrus.  Thus  then : I don’t  believe  that  you’re  their  son. 
Clit.  How  Syrus  ! are  you  mad  ? 

Syrus.  I’ll  speak  my  thoughts. 

Be  you  the  judge.  While  they  had  you  alone. 

While  yet  there  was  no  other  nearer  joy, 

You  they  indulg’d,  and  gave  with  open  hand : 

But  now  a daughter’s  found,  their  real  child, 

A cause  is  found  to  drive  you  forth. 

Clit.  ’Tis  like. 

Syrus.  Think  you  this  fault  so  angers  him  ? 

Clit.  I think  not. 

Syrus.  Consider  too  ; ’tis  ever  found  that  mothers 
Plead  for  their  sons,  and  in  the  father’s  wrath 
Defend  them.  ’Tis  not  so  at  present. 

Clit.  True. 

What  shall  I do  then,  Syrus? 

Syrus.  Ask  of  them 

The  truth  of  this  suspicion.  Speak  your  thoughts. 

If  ’tis  not  so,  you’ll  speedily  incline  them 
Both  to  compassion  ; or,  if  so,  be  told 
Whose  son  you  are. 

Clit.  Your  counsel’s  good.  I’ll  do’t, 

X 2 


490 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


[Act  y. 


Scene  V. 

Syrus  alone, 

A lucky  thought  of  mine ! for  Clitipho : 

The  less  he  hopes,  so  much  more  easily 
Will  he  reduce  his  father  to  good  terms. 

Besides,  who  knows  but  he  may  take  a wife  ? 

No  thanks  to  Syrus  neither. — But  who’s  here  ? 

Chremes  ! — I’m  off : for  seeing  what  has  pass’d, 

I wonder  that  he  did  not  order  me 
To  be  truss’d  up  immediately.  I’ll  hence 
To  Menedemus,  and  prevail  on  him 
To  intercede  for  me : as  matters  stand, 

I dare  not  trust  to  our  old  gentleman.  {Exit  Syrus. 

Scene  VI. 

Enter  Chremes,  Sostrata. 

SosTRA.  Nay  indeed,  husband,  if  you  don’t  take  care, 
You’ll  bring  some  kind  of  mischief  on  your  son  : 

I can’t  imagine  how  a thought  so  idle 
Could  come  into  your  head. 

Chrem.  Still,  w’oman,  still 
D’ye  contradict  me  ? Did  I ever  wish 
For  any  thing  in  all  my  life,  but  you 
In  that  same  thing  oppos’d  me,  Sostrata? 

Yet  now  if  I should  ask  wherein  I’m  wrong. 

Or  wherefore  I act  thus,  you  do  not  know. 

Why  then  d’ye  contradict  me,  simpleton  ? 

SosTRA.  Not  know? 

Chrem.  Well,  well,  you  know:  I grant  it,  rather 
Than  hear  your  idle  story  o’er  again. 

SosTRA.  Ah,  ’tis  unjust  in  you  to  ask  my  silence 
In  such  a thing  as  this. 

Chrem.  I do  not  ask  it. 

Speak  if  you  will : I’ll  do  it  ne’ertheless. 

SosTRA.  Will  you  ? 

Chrem.  I will. 

SosTRA.  You  don’t  perceive  what  harm 
May  come  of  this.  He  thinks  himself  a foundling. 

Chrem.  A foundling,  say  you? 

SosTRA.  Yes  indeed,  he  does. 

Chrem.  Confess  it  to  be  true. 

SosTRA.  Ah,  Heav’n  forbid ! 

Let  our  most  bitter  enemies  do  that ! 

Shall  I disown  my  son,  my  own  dear  child ! 

Chrem.  What ! do  you  fear  you  can  not  at  your  pleasure 
Produce  convincing  proofs  that  he’s  your  own  ? 

SosTRA.  Is  it  because  my  daughter’s  found  you  say  this? 


So.  VIL] 


THE  SELF-TORMENI'OII. 


491 


Chrem.  No  : but  because,  a stronger  reason  far, 

His  manners  so  resemble  yours,  you  may 
Easily  prove  him  thence  to  be  your  son. 

He  is  quite  like  you : not  a vice,  whereof 
He  is  inheritor,  but  dwells  in  you : 

And  such  a son  no  mother  but  yourself 

Could  have  engender’d. — But  he  comes. — How  grave  ! 

Look  in  his  face,  and  you  may  guess  his  plight. 

Scene  YII. 

Enter  CuTiriio. 

Clit.  Oh  mother,  if  there  ever  was  a time 
When  you  took  pleasure  in  me,  or  delight 
To  call  me  son,  beseech  you,  think  of  that ; 

Pity  my  present  misery,  and  tell  me 
Who  are  my  real  parents! 

SosTRA.  My  dear  son. 

Take  not,  I beg,  that  notion  to  your  mind, 

That  you’re  an  alien  to  our  blood. 

Clit.  I am. 

SosTRA.  Ah  me ! and  can  3"Ou  then  demand  me  that  ? 
So  may  you  prosper  after  both,  as  you’re 
Of  both  the  child ! and  if  you  love  your  mother, 

Take  heed  henceforward  that  I never  hear 
Such  words  from  you. 

Chrem.  And  if  you  fear  \’our  father, 

See  that  I never  find  such  vices  in  you. 

Clit.  What  vices  ? 

Chrem.  What?  I’ll  tell  you.  Trifler,  idler, 

Cheat,  drunkard,  whoremaster,  and  prodigal. 

— Think  this,  and  think  that  you  are  ours. 

SosTRA.  These  words 
Suit  not  a father. 

Chrem.  No,  no,  Clitipho, 

Though  from  my  brain  you  had  been  born,  as  Pallas 
Sprang,  it  is  said,  from  Jupiter,  I would  not 
Bear  the  disgrace  of  your  enormities. 

SosTRA.  The  Gods  forbid 

Chrem.  I know  not  for  the  Gods : 

I will  do  all  that  lies  in  me.  You  seek 
For  parents,  which  you  have ; but  what  is  wanting, 
Obedience  to  your  father,  and  the  means 
To  keep  what  he  by  labor  hath  acquir’d. 

For  that  you  seek  not. — Did  you  not  by  tricks 

Ev’n  to  my  presence  introduce 1 blush 

To  speak  immodestly  before  j^our  mother: 

But  you  by  no  means  blush’d  to  do’t. 

Clit.  Alas ! 

How  hateful  am  I to  myself!  how  much 


492 


THE  iSELE-TORMENTOK, 


[Act  a-. 


Am  I asham’d ! so  lost,  I can  not  tell 
How  to  attempt  to  pacify  my  father. 

Scene  VIIL 
Enter  Menedemus. 

Mene.  Now  in  good  faith  our  Chremcs  plagues  his  son 
Too  long  and  too  severely.  I come  forth 
To  reconcile  him,  and  make  peace  between  them. 

And  there  they  are ! 

Chrem.  Ha,  Menedemus ! wherefore 
Is  not  my  daughter  summon’d  ? and  the  portion, 

I settled  on  her ; ratified  by  you  ? 

SosTRA.  Dear  husband,  I beseech  you  not  to  do  it ! 

Clit.  My  father,  I entreat  you  pardon  me ! 

Mene.  Forgive  him,  Chremes  ! let  his  pray’rs  prevail ! 
Chrem.  What ! shall  I then  with  open  eyes  bestow 
My  whole  estate  on  Bacchis  ? I’ll  not  do’t. 

Mene.  We  will  prevent  that.  It  shall  not  be  so. 

Clit.  If  you  regard  my  life,  forgive  me,  father! 

- SoSTRA.  Do,  my  dear  Chremes  ! 

Mene.  Do,  I prithee  now! 

Be  not  obdurate,  Chremes  I 
Chrem.  Why  is  this  ? 

I see  I can’t  proceed  as  I’ve  begun.  . 

Mene.  ’Tis  as  it  should  be  now. 

Chrem.  On  this  condition, 

That  he  agrees  to  do  what  I think  fit. 

Clit.  I will  do  ev’ry  thing.  Command  me,  father! 

Chrem.  Take  a wife. 

Clit.  Father! 

Chrem.  Nay,  Sir,  no  denial! 

Mene.  I take  that  charge  upon  me.  He  shall  do’t. 
Chrem.  But  I don’t  hear  a word  of  it  from  him. 

Clit.  Confusion! 

SosTRA.  Do  you  doubt  then,  Clitipho? 

Chrem.  Nay,  which  he  pleases. 

Mene.  He’ll  obey  in  all ; 

Whate’er  you’d  have  him. 

SosTRA.  This  at  first  is  grievous. 

While  you  don’t  know  it;  when  you  know  it,  easy. 

Clit.  I’m  all  obedience,  father! 

SosTRA.  Oh  my  son. 

I’ll  give  you  a sweet  wife,  that  you’ll  adore, 

Phanocrata’s,  our  neighbor’s  daughter. 

Clit.  Her! 

That  red-hair’d,  blear-eyed,  wide-mouth’d,  hook-nos’d  wencli  ? 
I can  not,  father. 

Chrem.  Oh,  how  nice  he  is ! 

Would  any  one  imagine  it  ? 


Sc.  VIIL] 


THE  SELF-TORMENTOR. 


493 


SosTKA.  I’ll  get  you 
Another  then. 

Clit.  Well,  well;  since, I must  marry, 

I know  one  pretty  near  my  mind. 

SosTRA.  Good  boy! 

Clit.  The  daughter  of  Archonides,  our  neighbor. 

SosTRA.  Well  chosen! 

Clit.  One  thing,  father,  still  remains. 

Chrem.  What? 

Clit.  That  you’d  grant  poor  Syrus  a full  pardon 
For  all  that  he  hath  done  on  my  account. 

Chrem.  Be  it  so. — (To  the  Audience.)  Farewell  Sirs,  and 
clap  your  hands ! 


THE  BROTHERS. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Prologue. 


Geta. 

Dromo. 

Parmeno,  other  Servants,  etc 


Demea. 

Micio. 


jEschinus. 

Ctesipho. 


SOSTRATA. 

Canthara. 

Music-Girl,  and  oilier  Mute$ 


Hegio. 

Sannio. 

Syrus. 


Scene,  Athens. 


PROLOGUE. 


The  Bard  perceiving  his  piece  cavil’d  at 
By  partial  critics,  and  his  adversaries 
Misrepresenting  what  we’re  now  to  play. 

Pleads  his  own  cause : and  you  shall  be  the  judges, 
Whether  he  merits  praise  or  condemnation. 

The  Synapothnescontes  is  a piece 
By  Diphilus,  a comedy  which  Plautus, 

Having  translated,  call’d  Commorientes. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  Grecian  play 
There  is  a youth,  who  rends  a girl  perforce 
Prom  a procurer:  and  this  incident, 

Untouch’d  by  Plautus,  render’d  word  for  word, 

Plas  our  bard  interwoven  with  his  Brothers  / 

The  new  piece  which  we  represent  to-day. 

Say  then  if  this  be  theft,  or  honest  use 
Of  what  remain’d  unoccupied. — Por  that 
Which  malice  tells,  that  certain  noble  persons 
Assist  the  Bard,  and  write  in  concert  with  him ; 
That  which  they  deem  a heavy  slander.  He 
Esteems  his  greatest  praise : that  he  can  please 
Those  who  please  you,  who  all  the  people  please ; 
Those  who  in  war,  in  peace,  in  counsel,  ever 
Have  render’d  you  the  dearest  services. 

And  ever  borne  their  faculties  so  meekly. 

Expect  not  now  the  story  of  the  play : 

Part  the  old  men,  who  first  appear,  will  open  ; 


495 


I 


< 


Act  L, 


r>Uv)l'HERS. 


Pari 


shown. — Be  favorable ; 
•»r  to  the  poet  now 
earnestness  to  write! 


And 

Incr| 


r THE  FmST, 


Scene  I. 


Twier  Micio, 


Ho,  Storax! — ^schinus  did  not  return 
Last  night  from  supper ; no,  nor.  any  one 
Of  all  the  slaves  who  "went  to  see  for  him. 

— ’Tis  commonly — and  oh  how  truly! — said^ 

If  you  are  absent,  or  delay,  ’twere  best 

That  should  befall  yon,  which  your  wife  denounces, 

Or  which  in  anger  she  calls  down  upon  you, 

Than  that  which  kindest  parents  fear. — Your  wife, 
If  you  delay,  or  thinks  that  you’re  in  love, 

Or  lov’d,  or  drink,  or  entertain  yourself, 

Taking  your  pleasure,  while  she  pines  at  home. 

— And  what  a world  of  fears  possess  me  now ! 

How  anxious  that  my  son  is  not  return’d ; 

Lest'  he  take  cold,  or  fall,  or  break  a limb ! 

— Gods,  that  a man  should  suffer  any  one 
To  wind  himself  so  close  about  his  heart. 

As  to  grow  dearer  to  him  than  himself! 

And  yet  he  is  not  my  son,  but  my  brother’s. 
Whose  bent  of  mind  is  wholly  different. 

I,  from  youth  upward  even  to  this  day, 

Have  led  a quiet  and  serene  town-life ; 

And,  as  some  reckon  fortunate,  ne’er  married. 

He,  in  all  points  the  opposite  of  this. 

Has  pass’d  his  days  entirely  in  the  country 
With  thrift  and  labor ; married ; had  two  sons ; 

The  elder  boy  is  by  adoption  mine ; 

I’ve  brought  him  up ; kept ; lov’d  him  as  my  OAvn  • 
Made  him  my  joy,  and  all  my  s.onl  holds  dear, 
Striving  to  make  myself  a.s  dear  to  him. 

I give,  o’erlook,  nor  think  it  requisite 

That  all  his  deeds  should  be  controll’d  by  me. 

Giving  him  scope  to  act  as  of  himself ; 

So  that  the  pranks  of  youth,  which  other  children 
Hide  from  their  fathers,  I have  us’d  my  son 
Not  to  conceal  from  me.  For  whosoe’er 
Hath  won  upon  himself  to  play  the  false  one. 

And  practice  impositions  on  a father, 

Yv^ill  do  the  .same  with  less  remorse  to  others ; 


THE  BROTHERS. 


[Act  I 

And  ’tis,  in  my  opinion^  better  far  „ - jfj. 

To  bind  your  children  to  you  by  the  Hes  . 

Of  gentleness  and  modesty,  than  fear.  ’ r 
And  yet  my  brother  don’t  accord  in  this, 

Nor  do  these  notions  nor  this  conduct  please  him. 

Oft  he  comes  open-mouth’d — Why  how  now,  Micio? 

Why  do  you  ruin  this  young  lad  of  ours  ? 

Why  does  he  wench  ? why  drink  ? ai\d  why  do  you 
Allow  him  money  to  afford  all  this?  "* 

You  let  him  dress  too  fine.  ’Tis  idle  in  you. 

— ’Tis  hard  in  him,  unjust  and  out  of  reason. 

And  he,  I think,  deceives  himself  indeed. 

Who  fancies  that  authority  more  firm 

Founded  on  force,  than  what  is  built  on  friendship  ; 

For  thus  I reason,  thus  persuade  myself : 

He  who  performs  his  duty  driven  to’t 
By  fear  of  punishment,  while  he  believes 
His  actions  are  observ’d,  so  long  he’s  wary ; 

But  if  he  hopes  for  secrecy,  returns 

To  his  own  ways  again : But  he  whom  kindness, 

Him  also  inclination  makes  your  own : 

He  burns  to  make  a due  return,  and  acts. 

Present  or  absent,  evermore  the  same. 

’Tis  this  then  is  the  duty  of  a father, 

To  make  a son  embrace  a life  of  virtue. 

Rather  from  choice  than  terror  or  constraint. 

Here  lies  the  mighty  difference  between 
A father  and  a master.  He  who  knows  not 
How  to  do  this,  let  him  confess  he  knows  not 
How  to  rule  children. — But  is'tliis  the  man 
Whom  I was  speaking  of?  Yes,  yes,  ’tis  he. 

He  seems  uneasy  too,  I know  not  why. 

And  I suppose,  as  usual,  comes  to  wrangle. 

Scene  H. 

'Enter'  Demea. 

Micio.  Demea,  I’m  glad  to  see  you  well. 

Demea.  Oho! 

WeU  metf  the  verA'^  J^^an  I came  to  seek. 

Micio.  But  you  in ppeaf -uneasy : What’s  the  matter? 
Demea.  Is  it  a question,  vvdieti  There’s  ^schinus 
To  trouble  us,  what  makes  me  so  uhc^isy  ? 

Micio.  I said  it  would  be  so. — What  lias,  he  done? 

Demea.  What  has  he  done?  a wretch,  ifhom  neither  ties 
Of  shame,  nor  fear,  nor  any  law  can  bind ! 

For  not  to  speak  of  all  his  former  pranks, 

What  has  he  been  about  but  even  now ! 

Micio.  What  has  he  done? 

Demea.  Burst  open  doors,  and  forc’d 


thp:  brothers. 


His  wav  into -^irp tiler’s  house,  and  beat 
The  master  and  his  family  half  dead; 

And  carried  oft*  a wench  whom  he  was  fond  of. 

The  whole  town  cries  out  shame  upon  him,  Micio. 

I have  been  told  of  it  a hundred  times 

Since  ray  arrival.  ’Tis  the  common  talk. 

And  if  we  needs  must  draw  comparisons. 

Does  not  he  see  his  brother  thrifty,  sober. 

Attentive  to  his  business  in  the  country? 

Not  given  to  these  practices  ; and  when 
I say  all  this  to  him,  to  you  I say  it. 

You  are  his  ruin,  Micio. 

JMicio.  How  unjust 

Is  he  who  wants  experience ! who  believes 
Nothing  is  right  but  what  he  does  himself! 

Demea.  Why  d’ye  say  that  ? 

Micio.  Because  you,  Demea, 

Judge  wrongly  of  these  matters.  . ’Tis  no  crime 
Eor  a young  man  to  wench  or  drink. — ’Tis  not. 

Believe  me! — nor  to  force  doors  open. — This, 

If  neither  you  nor  I have  done,  it  was 
That  poverty  allow'd  us  not.  And  now 
You  claim  a merit  to  yourself,  from  that 
Which  want  constrain’d  you  to.  It  is  not  fair. 

For  had  there  been  but  wherewithal  to  do’t. 

We  likewise  should  have  done  thus.  Wherefore  you. 
Were  you  a man,  would  let  your  younger  son. 

Now,  while  it  suits  his  age,  pursue  his  pleasures ; 
Rather  than,  when  it  less  becomes  his  years. 

When,  after  wishing  long,  he  shall  at  last 
Be  rid  of  you,  he  should  run  riot  then. 

Demea.  Oh  Jupiter!  the  man  will  drive  me  mad. 

Is  it  no  crime,  d’ye  say,  for  a young  man 
To  take  these  courses  ? 

Micio.  Nay,  nay;  do  but  hear  me, 

Nor  stun  me  with  the  self-same  thing  forever ! 

Your  elder  son  you  gave  me  for  adoption: 

He’s  mine,  then,  Demea ; and  if  he  oft'ends, 

’Tis  an  oft’ense  to  me,  and  I must  bear 

The  burden.  Does  he  treat  ? or  drink  ? or  dress  ? 

’lis  at  my  cost. Or  wench?  I wdll  supply  him, 

While  ’tis  convenient  to  me  ; when  ’tis  not. 

His  mistresses  perhaps  will  shut  him  out. 

— Has  he  broke  open  doors  ? we’ll  make  them  good. 
Or  torn  a coat?  it  shall  be  mended.  I, 

Thank  Heaven,  have  enough  to  do  all  this. 

And  ’tis  as  3Xt  not  irksome. — In  a word. 

Or  cease,  or  choose  some  arbiter  between  us : 

I’ll  prove  that  you  are  more  in  fault  than  I. 

Demea.  Ah,  learn  to  be  a father ; learn  from  those 
Who  know  w^hat  ’tis  to  be  indeed  a parent ! 


498 


THE  BROTHEilS. 

Micio.  By  nature  you’re  his  ffcv,- 
Demea.  You!  do  you  counsel- iiV  : .c  ' 

Micio.  Nay,  nay; 

If  you  persist,  I’m  gone. 

Demea.  Is’t  thus  you  treat  m-^ 

Micio.  Must  I still  hear  the  a.  > ' ■ 

Demea.  It  touches  me. 

Micio.  And  me  it  touches  too. 

But,  Demea,  let  us  each  look  to  our  own  ; 

Let  me  take  care  of  one,  and  mind  you  t’other. 
For  to  concern  yourself  with  both,  appears 
As  if  you’d  redemand  the  boy  you  gave. 

Demea.  Ah,  Micio ! 

Micio.  So  it  seems  to  me. 

Demea.  Well,  well ; 

Let  him,  if  ’tis  your  pleasure,  waste,  destroy. 

And  squander ; it  is  no  concern  of  mine. 

If  henceforth  I e’er  say  one  word 

Micio.  Again  ? 

Angry  again,  good  Demea  ? 

Demea.  You  may  trust  me. 

Do  I demand  him  back  again  I gave  you  ? 

— It  hurts  me.  I am  not  a stranger  to  him. 

— But  if  I once  oppose Well,  well,  I’ve  done. 

You  wish  I should  take  care  of  one.  I do 
Take  special  care  of  him  ; and  he,  thank  Heav’n, 
Is  as  I wish  he  should  be : wdiich  your  ward, 

I warrant,  shall  find  out  one  time  or  other. 

I will  not  say  aught  worse  of  him  at  present. 


(Exit. 


Scene  III. 

Micio  alone. 

Though  what  he  says  be  not  entirely  true, 

There’s  something  in  it,  and  it  touches  me. 

But  I dissembled  my  concern  with  him, 

Because  the  nature  of  the  man  is  such, 

To  pacify,  I must  oppose  and  thwart  him ; 

And  even  thus  I scarce  can  teach  him  patience. 
But  were  I to  inflame,  or  aid  his  anger, 

I were  as  great  a madman  as  himself. 

Yet  ^schinus,  ’tis  true,  has  been  to  blame. 

What  wench  is  there  he  has  not  lov’d  ? to  whom 

He  has  not  made  some  present And  but  lately 

(Tir’d,  I suppose,  and  sick  of  wantonness) 

He  told  me  he  propos’d  to  take  a wife. 

I hop’d  the  heyday  of  the  blood  was  over, 

And  was  rejoic’d : but  his  intemperance 

Breaks  out  afresh. Well,  be  it  what  it  may. 

I’ll  find  him  out ; and  know  it  instantly. 

If  he  is  to  be  met  witli  at  tlie  Forum. 


{Exit. 


Act  II.,  So.  L] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


499 


ACT  THE  SECOND. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  uEschinus,  Sannio,  Parmeno,  the  Music-Girl,  and  a crowd 
of  People, 

San.  Help,  help,  dear  countrymen,  for  Heaven’s  sake ! 
Assist  a miserable,  harmless  man ! 

Help  the  distress’d ! 

iEscii.  {to  the  Girl),  Fear  nothing : stand  just  there  ! 

Why  d’ye  look  back  ? you’re  in  no  danger.  Never, 

While  I am  by,  shall  he  lay  hands  upon  you. 

San.  Aye,  but  I will,  in  spite  of  all  the  world. 

^scii.  Rogue  as  he  is,  he’ll  scarce  do  any  thing 
To  make  me  cudgel  him  again  to-day. 

San.  One  word,  Sir  ^schinus ! that  you  may  not 
Pretend  to  ignorance  of  my  profession  ; 

I’m  a procurer. 

^scii.  True. 

San.  And  in  my  way 
Of  as  good  faith  as  any  man  alive. 

Hereafter,  to  absolve  yourself,  you’ll  cry. 

That  you  repent  of  having  wrong’d  me  thus. 

I sha’n’t  care  that  for  your  excuse.  {Snapping  his fngers,) 

Be  sure 

I’ll  prosecute  my  right ; nor  shall  fine  words 
Atone  for  evil  deeds.  I know  your  way, 

“ I’m  sorry  that  I did  it : and  I’ll  swear 

You  are  unworthy  of  this  injury” 

Though  all  the  while  I’m  us’d  most  scurvily. 

-®SCH.  {to  Par.)  Do  you  go  forward,  Parmeno,  and  throw 
The  door  wide  open. 

San.  That  sha’n’t  signifv. 

ASsch.  {to  Parmeno).  Now  in  with  her  ! 

San.  {stepping  between).  I’ll  not  allow  it. 

^SCH.  {to  Parmeno).  Here! 

Come  hither,  Parmeno  ! — you’re  too  far  off. — 

Stand  close  to  that  pimp’s  side — There — there — just  there  ! 
And  now  be  sure  you  always  kee])  your  eyes 
Steadfastly  fix’d  on  mine  ; and  when  I wink. 

To  drive  your  fist  directly  in  his  face. 

San.  Aye,  if  he  dare. 

.^SCH.  {to  Parmeno).  Now  mind! — {To  Sannio).  Let  go  the 
girl  (Sannio  still  struggling  with  the  Girl^  A^schinus 
winJcs^  and  Parmeno  strikes  Sannio). 

San.  Oh  monstrous ! 

^SCH.  He  shall  double  it,  unless 
You  mend  your  manners.  (Par:meno  strikes  Sannio  again.) 


500 


THE  BROTHERS. 


[Act  II. 


. San.  Help,  help : murder,  murder ! 

..dEsen.  (to  Paumeno).  I did  not  wink  : but  you  had  better  err 

That  way  than  t’other. Now  go  in  with  her. 

(Parmeno  leads  the  Girl  into  Micio’s  house.') 
San.  How’s  this? — Do  you  reign  king  here,  HCschinus? 
,-ZEsch.  Did  I reign  king,  you  should  be  recompens’d 
According  to  your  virtues,  I assure  you. 

San.  What  business  have  you  with  me  ? 
iEscH.  None. 

San.  D’ye  know 
Who  I am,  ^schinus  ? 
jEsch.  Nor  want  to  know. 

San.  Have  I toueh’d  aught  of  yours,  Sir  ? 

AEsch.  If  you  had. 

You  should  have  suffer’d  for’t. 

San.  What  greater  right 
Have  you  to  take  away  my  slave,  for  whom 
I paid  my  money  ? answer  me ! 

JEsch.  ’Twere  best 

You’d  leave  off  bellowing  before  our  door  ; 

If  you  continue  to  be  troublesome. 

I’ll  have  you  dragg’d  into  the  house,  and  there 
Lash’d  'without  mercy. 

San.  How,  a freeman  lash’d ! 

^SCH.  Ev’n  so. 

San.  O monstrous  tyranny!  Is  this, 

Is  this  the  liberty  they  boast  of  here. 

Common  to  all  ? 

AEscii.  If  you  have  brawl’d  enough. 

Please  to  indulge  me  with  one  word,  you  pimp. 

San.  Who  has  brawd’d  most,  yourself  or  I ? 

AEsch.  Well,  well  I 
No  more  of  that,  but  to  the  point ! 

San.  What  point? 

What  would  you  have  ? 

JEsch.  Will  you  allow  me  then 
To  speak  of  wliat  concerns  you  ? 

San.  Willingly : 

Speak,  but  in  justice. 

JEsch.  Very  fine  ! a pimp, 

And  talks  of  justice  ! 

San.  Well,  I am  a pimp  ; 

The  common  bane  of  youth,  a perjurer, 

A public  nuisance,  I confess  it : yet 
I never  did  you  wrong. 

AEscii.  No,  that’s  to  come. 

San.  Prithee  return  to  whence  you  first  set  out,  Sir ! 
^scri.  You,  plague  upon  you  for  it!  bought  the  girl 
For  twenty  minje ; which  sum  we  will  give  you. 

San.  What  if  I do  not  choose  to  sell  the  girl  ? 

Will  you  oblige  me  ? 


Sc.  III.] 


THE  BROTIIEllS. 


501 


JEscir.  No. 

San.  I fear’d  you  \yould. 

iEscH.  She’s  a free-womaii,  and  should  not  be  sold, 

And,  as  such,  by  due  course  of  law  I claim  her. 

Now  then  consider  which  you  like  the  best, 

To  take  the  money,  or  maintain  your  action. 

Think  on  this,  Pimp,  till  I come  back  again.  (Exit. 

Scene  IL 
Sannio  alone. 

Oh  Jupiter ! I do  not  wonder  now 

That  men  run  mad  with  injuries.  He  drags  me 

Out  of  my  own  house  ; cudgels  me  most  soundly ; 

And  carries  off  my  slave  against  my  will : 

And  after  this  ill-treatment,  he  demands 
The  Music-Girl  to  be  made  over  to  him 
x\t  the  same  price  I bought  her. — He  has  pour’d 
His  blows  upon  me,  thick  as  hail ; for  which, 

Since  he  deserves  so  nobly  at  my  hands. 

He  should  no  doubt  be  gratified. — Nay,  nay. 

Let  me  but  touch  the  cash,  I’m  still  content. 

But  this  I guess  will  be  the  case : as  soon 
As  I shall  have  agreed  to  take  his  price. 

He’ll  produce  witnesses  immediately. 

To  prove  that  I have  sold  her — And  the  money 

Will  be  mere  moonshine. — ‘‘ By-and-by.” — “ To-morrow.” 

— Yet  I could  bear  that  too,  although  much  wrong, 

Might  I but  get  the  money  after  all  : 

Eor  thus  it  is,  friend  Sannio  ; when  a man 
Has  taken  up  this  trade,  he  must  receive, 

And  pocket  the  affronts  of  young  gallants. 

— But  nobody  will  pay  me,  and  I draw 
Conclusions  to  no  purpose. 

Scene  HI. 

Enter  Syrus. 

Syrus  (to  ^scii.  loithiny.  Say  no  more ! 

Let  me  alone  to  talk  with  him  I I warrant 
I’ll  make  him  take  the  money ; aye,  and  own. 

That  he’s  well  treated  too.  (Coming  forward.') 

Why  how  now,  Sannio? 

What’s  the  dispute  I overheard  just  nov/ 

’Twixt  you  and  my  young  master? 

San.  Never  was 

Any  dispute  conducted  more  unfairly. 

Than  that  between  us  two  to-day ! Poor  I 
With  being  drubb’d,  and  he  with  drubbing  mcj 
’Till  we  were  both  quite  'veary. 


502 


THE  BROTHERS. 


[Act  II. 


Strus.  All  your  fault. 

San.  What  could  I do  ? 

Syrus.  Give  a young  man  his  way. 

San.  What  could  I give  him  more,  who  gave  my  face  ? 
Syrus.  Nay,  but  d’ye  know  my  meaning,  Sannio  ? 

To  seem  upon  occasion  to  slight  money, 

Proves  in  the  end,  sometimes,  the  greatest  gain. 

Why  prithee,  blockhead,  could  you  be  afraid, 

Had  you  abated  somewhat  of  your  right, 

And  humor’d  the  young  gentleman,  he  would  not 
Have  paid  you  back  again  with  .interest  ? 

San.  I never  purchase  hope  with  ready  money. 

Syrus.  Away ! you’ll  never  thrive.  You  do  not  know 
How  to  ensnare  men,  Sannio. 

San.  Well,  perhaps, 

Your  way  were  best : yet  I was  ne’er  so  crafty 
But  I had  rather,  when  ’twas  in  my  power. 

Receive  prompt  payment. 

Syrus.  Pshaw  ! I know  your  spirit : 

As  if  you  valued  twenty  mina3  now, 

So  you  might  do  a kindness  to  my  master  I 
— Besides,  they  say  you’re  setting  out  for  Cyprus.  {Carelessly.') 
San.  Ha!  {Alarmed.) 

Syrus.  — And  have  bought  up  a large  stock  of  goods 

To  carry  over  thither. Hir’d  a vessel. 

That  ’tis,  I know,  which  keeps  you  in  suspense ; 

When  you  return,  I hope,  you’ll  settle  this. 

San.  I shall  not  budge  a foot. Undone  by  Heav’n ! 

Urg’d  by  these  hopes  they’ve  undertaken  this.  {Aside.) 
Syrus.  He  fears.  I’ve  thrown  a small  rub  in  his  way. 

{Aside.) 

San.  {to  himself).  Confusion  ! they  have  nick’d  me  to  a 
hair ! 

I’ve  bought  up  sev’ral  slaves,  and  other  wares. 

For  exportation ; and  to  miss  my  time 
At  Cyprus-fair  would  be  a heavy  loss. 

Then  if  I leave  this  business  broken  thus. 

All’s  over  with  me ; and  at  my  return 

’Twill  come  to  nothing,  grown  quite  cold  and  stale. 

“ What!  come  at  last? — Why  did  you  stay  so  long? 

Where  have  you  been?” — that  it  were  better  lose  it, 

Than  wait  for  it  so  long,  or  sue  for’t  then. 

Syrus  {coming  up  to  him).  Vfell,  have  you  calculated  what’s 
your  due? 

San.  Monstrous  oppression!  Is  this  honorable. 

Or  just  in  iEschinus,  to  take  away 
My  property  by  force  ? 

Syrus.  So,  so!  he  comes.  {Aside.) 

— I have  but  one  word  more  to  say  to  you. 

See  how  you  like  it. — Rather,  Sannio, 

Than  run  the  risk  to  get  or  lose  the  whole, 


wSc.  IV.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


503 


E’en  halve  the  matter:  and  he  shall  contrive 
To  scrape  together  by  some  means  ten  minag. 

San.  Alas,  alas!  am  I in  danger  then 
Of  losing  ev’n  my  very  principal? 

Shame  on  him!  he  has  loosen’d  all  my  teeth: 

My  head  is  swell’d  all  over  like  a mushroom: 

And  will  he  cheat  me  too  ? — I’m  going  nowhere. 

Syrus.  Just  as  you  please. — Have  you  aught  else  to  say 
Before  I go? 

San.  Yes,  one  word,  prithee  Syrus! 

However  things  have  happen’d,  rather  than 
I should  be  driven  to  commence  a suit, 

Let  him  return  me  my  bare  due  at  least ; 

The  sum  she  cost  me,  Syrus. — I’m  convinc’d 
You’ve  had  no  tokens  of  my  friendship  yet ; 

But  you  shall  find  I will  not  be  ungrateful. 

Syrus.  I’ll  do  my  best.  But  I see  Ctesipho. 

He  is  rejoic’d  about  his  mistress. 

San.  Say, 

Will  you  remember  me  ? 

Syrus.  Hold,  hold  a little ! (Syrus  and  Sannio  retire.') 
Scene  IV. 

Enter  Ctesipho  at  another  part  of  the  stage, 

Ctes.  Favors  are  welcome  in  the  hour  of  need 
From  any  hand ; but  doubly  Avelcome  when 
Conferr’d  by  those  from  whom  we  most  expect  them. 

O brother,  brother,  how  shall  I applaud  thee? 

Ne’er  can  I rise  to  such  a height  of  praise 
But  your  deservings  will  outtop  me  still : 

For  in  this  point  I am  supremely  bless’d. 

That  none  can  boast  so  excellent  a brother. 

So  rich  in  all  good  qualities,  as  I. 

Syrus  (coming  forward).  O Ctesipho ! 

Ctes.  (turning  round).  O Syrus!  where’s  my  brother? 
Syrus.  At  home,  where  he  expects  you. 

Ctes.  Ha!  (Joyfully.) 

Syrus.  What  now! 

Ctes.  What  now? — By  his  assistance  I live,  Syrus. 

Ah,  he’s  a friend  indeed!  who  disregarding 
All  his  own  interests  for  my  advantage. 

The  scandal,  infamy,  intrigue,  and  blame. 

All  due  to  me,  has  drawn  upon  himself! 

What  could  exceed  it? — But  who’s  there? — The  door 
Creaks  on  the  hinges.  (Offering  to  go  off.) 

Syrus.  Hold ! ’tis  .^schinus. 


504 


THE  BROTHERS. 


[Act  II.,  Sc.  V. 


Scene  V. 

Enter  JEschinus. 

^SCH.  Where  is  that  rascal? 

San.  (behind).  He  inquires  for  me. 

Has  he  brought  out  the  cash  with  him  ? — Confusion ! 

I see  none. 

JEsch.  (to  Ctesipho).  Ha!  well  met:  I long’d  to  see  you. 
How  is  it,  Ctesipho?  All’s  safe.  Away 
With  melancholy ! 

Ctes.  Melancholy!  I 

Be  melancholy,  who  have  such  a brother? 

Oh  my  dear  .^schinus ! thou  best  of  brothers, 

— Ah,  I’m  asham’d  to  praise  you  to  your  face, 

Lest  it  appear  to  come  from  flattery, 

Rather  than  gratitude. 

A^sch.  Away,  you  fool! 

As  if  we  did  not  know  each  other,  Ctesipho. 

It  only  grieves  me,  we  so  lately  knew  this. 

When  things  were  almost  come  to  such  a pass, 

That  all  the  world,  had  they  desir’d  to  do  it. 

Could  not  assist  you. 

Ctes.  ’Twas  my  modesty. 

jEscii.  Pshaw ! it  was  folly,  and  not  modesty. 

For  such  a trifle,  almost  fly  your  country? 

Heaven  forbid  it ! — fie,  fie,  Ctesipho ! 

Ctes.  I’ve  been  to  blame. 

^SCH.  Well,  what  says  Sannio? 

Syrus.  He’s  pacified  at  last. 

^Esch.  ni  to  the  Forum, 

And  pay  him  off. — You,  Ctesipho,  go  in 
To  the  poor  girl. 

San.  Noav  urge  the  matter,  Syrus ! (Apart  to  Syrus.) 
Syrus.  Let’s  go;  for  Sannio  wants  to  be  at  Cyprus. 

San.  Not  in  such  haste : though  truly  I have  no  cause 
To  loiter  here. 

Syrus.  You  shall  be  paid : ne’er  fear ! 

San.  But  all? 

Syrus.  Yes,  all:  so  hold  your  tongue,  and  follow! 

San.  I will.  (Exit  after  JEsciiinus — Syrus  going. 

Ctes.  Hist ! hark  ye,  Syrus ! 

Syrus  {turning  hack).  Well,  what  now? 

Ctes.  For  Heaven’s  sake  discharge  that  scurvy  fellow 
Immediately ; for  fear,  if  further  urg’d, 

This  tale  should  reach  my  fiithcr’s  ears:  and  then 
I am  undone  forever. 

Syrus.  It  sha’n’t  be. 

Be  of  good  courage!  meanwhile,  get  you  in, 

And  entertain  yourself  with  her ; and  order 


Act  III.,  Sc.  11.] 


THE  I3K0TIIEKS. 


505 


Ihe  couches  to  bo  spread,  and  all  prepar’d, 
i'or,  these  preliminaries  once  dispatch’d, 

1 shall  march  homeward  with  provisions 
Ctes.  Do! 

And  since  this  business  has  turn’d  out  so  ^vcll 
L®t  s spend  the  day  in  mirth  and  jollity ! 

{Exeunt  severally. 


ACT  THE  THIRD. 

Scene  I. 

SOSTRATA,  CanTHARA. 

Sos.  Prithee,  good  nurse,  how  will  it  go  with  her  ^ 
Can.  How  go  with  her?  Why  well,  I warrant  you. 
feos.  Her  pains  begin  to  come  upon  her,  nurse. 

CAN.  You  re  as  much  frighten’d  at  your  time  of  day, 
As  if  you  ne  er  was  present  at  a labor. 

Or  never  had  been  brought  to  bed  yourself. 

Sos.  Alas,  I’ve  no  soul  here : we’re  all  alone. 

Oeta  IS  absent;  nor  is  ther©  a creature 
lo  fetch  a^  midwife,  or  call  ^schinus. 

C^.  He  11  be  here  presently,  I promise  voii ; 

Tor  he,  good  man,  ne’er  lets  a single  dav 
Go  by,  but  he  is  sure  to  visit  us. 

Sos.  He  is  my  only  comfort  in  my  sorrows. 

Can.  Troth,  as  the  case  stands,  madam,  circumstances 
Could  not  have  happen’d  better  than  they  have : 

And  since  your  daughter  suffer’d  violence, 

I was  well  she  met  with  such  a man  as  this  * 

A man  of  honor,  rank,  and  familv. 

indeed,  a worthy  gentleman : 

Ihe  gods  preserve  him  to  us! 


Scene  H. 

Enter  Geta  hastily  at  another  part  of  the  stage. 

Geta.  We  are  now 
So  absolutely  lost,  that  all  the  world 
Joining  in  consultation  to  apply 
Relief  to  the  misfortune  that  has  fallen 
On  me,  my  mistress,  and  her  daughter,  all 

Would  not  avail. Ah  me ! so  many  troubles 

Environ  us  at  once,  we  sink  beneath  them. 

Rape,  poverty,  oppression,  solitude, 

And  infamy ! oh,  what  an  age  is  this ! 

O wicked,  oh  vile  race ! — oh  impious  man  ^ 

Y 


506 


THE  BROTHERS. 


[Act  III. 

Sos.  (<o  Cantiiar-v).  Ah,  \vhy  should  Geta  seem  thus  tor- 
rifled 

^’geta  Wretch ! whom  neither  honor, 

Is  or  oaths,  nor  pity  could  control  or  inovc; 

Nor  her  approaching  labor;  her,  on  whom 
He  shamefully  committed  violation  . 

Sos.  I don’t  well  understand  him. 

Can.  Prithee  then 
Let  us  draw  nearer,  Sostrata! 

Geta  (to  himself),  Alas, 

Pm  scarcely  in  my  perfect  mind,  I ^urn 
With  such  fierce  anger. — Oh,  that  I had  all 
That  villain-family  before  me  now, 

That  I might  vent  my  indignation  on  them. 

While  yet  it  boils  within  me. — There  is  nothing 
I’d  not  endure  to  be  reveng’d  on  them. 

First  I’d  tread  out  the  stinking  snutt  his  father. 

Who  gave  the  monster  being.— And  then,  , 

Who  mg’d  him  to  it,-how  I’d  tear  him  -Fu^ 

I’d  seize  him  round  the  waist,  and  ^^^t  him  hi„  , 

Then  dash  his  head  against  the  ground,  and  strew 
The  pavement  with  his  brains.— For  iEschin  . , 

I’d  tear  his  eyes  out,  and  then  . 

Head  foremost  down  some  precipice.  The  les 
I’d  rush  on,  drag,  crush,  trample  under  foot. 

But  why  do  I delay  to  tell  my  mistress 

This  heavy  news  as  soon  as  possible ! (Going.) 

Sos.  Let’s  call  him  back. Ho,  Geta . 

Geta.  Whosoe’er 
You  are,  excuse  me. 

Geia.^  Where, "e  is  Sostrata?  {Turns  alout.)  I sought 
you.  Madam; 

Impatiently  I sought  you:  and  am  glad 

To  have  encounter’d  you  thus  readily.  . 

Sos.  What  is  the  matter?  why  dye  tiemble  thus? 

Sos.^T^e^Vreath!— But  why  thus  mov’d,  good  Geta: 

Geta.  We’re  quite 

Sos.  Quite  what?  . n/r  i . 

Geta.  Undone:  We’re  ruin  d.  Madam. 

Sos.  Explain,  for  Heaven’s  sake ! 

Geta.  Ev’n  now- 

Sos.  What  now? 

Geta.  ALschinus 

Sos.  What  of  JEschinus? 

Geta.  Has  quite 

Estrang’d  himself  from  all  our  family. 

Sos.  How’s  that  ? confusion  ! why  ? 

Geta.  He  loves  another. 


Sc.  II.J 


THE  BROTHERS. 


Sos.  Wretch  that  I am  ! 

OrETA.  Ror  that  clandestinely  * 

Sos.  Are  you  sure  of  this  ^ 

^yho  swore  he  could  not  live  one  day  without  her 
rpfr  T ™ her! 

What  cm;rsT;v:.?;c"f’to“fonoT?  ITm"'' 

n^’  r *°  h to  some  friend? 

To'^CjJS’Td'yL  «S£?“  " ■'■'•  * -‘"X 

Geta.  I’d  not  advise  it. 

Thp  ri  'J"he  abandon’d  us, 

T e declares.  If  we  then  make 

The  story  known,  no  doubt  but  he’ll  deny  it 
wnf  ®"<i  your  daughter’s  life 

sTne/n  endanger’d ; or  if  he  confess, 

Thsu-  n’®  another,  ’twere  not  good 

Silenced  rils?;:  ‘^‘‘“ghter.-Eor  which  reasons, 

Sos.  All,  no : not  I. 

Geta.  What  mean  you? 

Sos.  To  disclose  the  whole. 

^ Geta.  How,  Madam  I 
Think  what  you  are  about. 

Sos.  W hatever  happens, 

In  ^ than  now 

daughter  has  no  portion 

R alsf  W " '’®®"  second’ dowry 

is  also  lost,  and  she  can  ne’er  be  niv’n  ^ 

If  f-  %'’h-gin-  For  the  rest. 

It  he  denies  his  former  commerce  with  her 
I have  the  ring  he  lost  to  vouch  the  feet.  ’ 

Tha^l'T’  *‘"®®  ^ conscious  to  myself. 

And  tha‘'t“n«  to  blame  in  this  proceeding, 

Ana  that  no  sordid  love  of  ^ain  nor  ano-ht 
Unworthy  of  my  daughter  or%lelf,  ® 

GeTwJIi  T Geta. 

Sos  Yon  tlisn  ‘"'eje  better  to  disclose  it. 

And  mn  tn  ®®  P®®*  as  possible. 

To  lef  V ,^®Sio  our  good  friend  and  kinsman 
W«^  *^®  affair:  for  he  ’ 

A^d  Simulns, 

And  ever  show  d a great  regard  for  us. 


507 


508  . 


THE  BROTHERS. 


[Act  III. 


Gcta.  And  well  lie  does,  for  no  one  else  caies  foi  i.. 

Sos  And  you,  good  Canthara,  away  with  haste. 

Anil  rail  a midwife  I that  we  may  be  sure 

Of  lier  assisunce  in’  the  time  of  need.  {Exeunt  severally. 

Scene  III- 
Enter  Demea. 

Dem.  Confusion ! I have  heard  that  Ctesipho 
Was  present  with  his  brother  at  this  no  . 

This  is  the  sum  of  all  my  miseries, 

If  he,  even  he,  a sober,  hopeful  lad, 

Mav  be  seduc’d  into  debaucheries.^ 

—But  where  shall  I inquire  for  him  ? ^ 

They  have  decoy’d  him  into  some  vile  biothel. 

That  profligate  persuaded  him.  I’m  sure. 

But  here  comes  Syrus ; he  can  tell  m c 

And  yet  this  slave  is  of  the  gang  ; and  i 
He  once  perceives  that  I’m  inquiring  f ? 

He’ll  never  tell  me  any  thing;  a rogue, 
ril  not  discover  my  design. 

Scene  IV. 

Enter  Syrus  at  another  part  of  the  stage. 

Syrus  (to  himself).  We’ve  just 
Disclos’d  the  whole  of  this  affair  to  Micio, 

Exactly  as  it  happen’d.  I neer  saw 
The  good  old  gentleman  more  pleas  d. 

Hem.  Oh  Heav’n,  . 

The  folly  of  the  man!  (^Listening.) 

Syrus  {to  himself}.  He  prais’d  his  son ; 

Me,  who  concerted  the  whole  scheme,  he  thank  d. 

Hem  I burst  with  rage.  (^Listening.) 
sZs  {to  himself).  He  told  the  money  down 
Immediately,  and  threw  us 
To  make  an  entertainment,  a Mlf-mina . 

Which  I’ve  laid  out  according  to  my  kking. 

DbI  So!  if  you’d  have  your  business  well  taen  care  ol. 

Commit  it  to  this  fellow  I 

Syrus  (overhearing).  Who’s  there  . Demea . 

I did  not  see  you,  {Sir.  How  goes  it . 

Hem.  How  ? , 

I can’t  sufficiently  adimre  your  conduct  ^ 

Syrus  {negligently).  Silly  enough,  y 
(To  servants  within).  Cleanse  you  the  rest  oi  no 

Hromo : let 

That  large  eel  ® Ju  then 

When  I return  it  shall  he  bon  d , till  tlion 

It  must  not  be- 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


500 


Dem.  Are  crimes  like  these 

Syrus  {to  Demea).  Indeed 
I like  them  not,  and  oft  cry  shame  upon  them. 

— {To  servants  ivitldn).  See  that  those  salt  fish  are  well  soak'd, 
Stephanio. 

Dem.  Gods ! is  this  done  on  purpose  ? Does  he  think 
’Tis  laudable  to  spoil  his  son  ? Alas ! 

I think  I see  the  day  when  iEschinus 
Shall  fly  for  want,  and  list  himself  a soldier. 

Syrus.  O Demea!  that  is  to  be  wise:  to  see, 

Not  that  alone  which  lies  before  your  feet. 

But  ev’n  to  pry  into  futurity. 

Dem.  What!  is  the  Music-Girl  at  your  house? 

Syrus.  Aye, 

Madam’s  within . 

Dem.  What ! and  is  JEschinus 
To  keep  her  at  home  with  him? 

Syrus.  I believe  so  ; 

Such  is  their  madness. 

Dem.  Is  it  possible  ? 

Syrus.  A fond  and  foolish  father ! 

Dem.  I’m  asham’d 

To  own  my  brother.  I’m  griev’d  for  him. 

Syrus.  Ah ! 

There  is  a deal  of  dilTrence,  Demea, 

— Nor  is’t  because  you’re  present  that  I say  this 

There  is  a mighty  difference  between  you ! 

You  are,  from  top  to  toe,  all  over  wisdom  : 

He  a mere  dotard. — Would  you  e’er  permit 
Your  boy  to  do  such  things  ? 

Dem.  Permit  him?  I? 

Or  should  I not  much  rather  smell  him  out 
Six  months  before  he  did  but  dream  of  it? 

Syrus.  Pshaw ! do  you  boast  your  vigilance  to  me  ? 

Dem.  Heav’n  keep  him  ever  as  he  is  at  present ! 

Syrus.  As  fathers  from  their  children,  so  they  prove. 

Dem.  But  now  we’re  speaking  of  him,  have  you  seen 
The  lad  to-day  ? ( With  an  affected  carelessness.) 

Syrus.  Your  son  d’ye  mean? — I’ll  drive  him 
Into  the  country.  {Aside.) — He  is  hard  at  work 
Upon  your  grounds  by  this  time.  {To  Demea.) 

Dem.  Are  you  sure  on’t? 

Syrus.  Sure?  I set  out  with  him  myself. 

Dem.  Good ! good  ! 

I was  afraid  he  loiter’d  here.  {Aside.) 

Syrus.  And  much 
Enrag’d,  I promise  you. 

Dem.  On  what  account? 

Syrus.  A quarrel  with  his  brother  at  the  Forum, 

About  the  Music-Girl, 

Dem.  Indeed  ? 


510 


THE  BROTHERS. 


[Act  III. 


SvHUS.  Aye,  faitli : 

He  did  not  mince  the  matter:  lie  spoke  out; 

Eor  as  the  cash  was  telling  down,  in  pops, 

All  unexpected.  Master  Ctesipho  : 

Cries  out — “ Oh  JEschinus,  are  these  your  courses  ? 

Do  you  commit  these  crimes  ? and  do  you  bring 
Such  a disgrace  upon  our  family  ?” 

Deji.  Oh,  oh,  I weep  for  joy. 

Syrus. “You  squander  not 

The  money  only,  but  your  life,  your  honor.” 

Dem.  Heav’n  bless  him;  he  is  like  his  ancestors.  {Weeping.) 
Syrus.  Father’s  own  son,  I warrant  him. 

Dem.  Oh,  Syrus  ! 

He’s  full  of  all  those  precepts,  he  ! 

Syrus.  No  doubt  oii’t : 

He  need  not  go  from  home  for  good  instruction. 

Dem.  I spare  no  pains  ; neglect  no  means  ; I train  him. 
— In  short,  I bid  him  look  into  the  lives 
Of  all,  as  in  a mirror,  and  thence  draw 
From  others  an  example  for  himself. 

-“Do  this.” 

Syrus.  Good ! 

Dem.  “Fly  that.” 

Syrus.  Very  good ! 

Dem.  “ This  deed 
Is  commendable.” 

Syrus.  That’s  the  thing ! 

Dem.  “That’s  reprehensible.” 

Syrus.  Most  excellent! 

Dem.  “ And  then  moreover ” 

Syrus.  Faith,  I have  not  time 
To  give  you  further  audience  just  at  present, 

I’ve  got  an  admirable  dish  of  fish  ; 

And  I must  take  good  care  they  are  not  spoil’d. 

For  that  were  an  offense  as  grievous,  Demea, 

In  us,  as  ’twere  in  you  to  leave  undone 

The  things  you  just  now  mentioned : and  I try, 

According  to  my  weak  abilities. 

To  teach  my  fellow- slaves  the  self-same  way. 

— “ This  is  too  salt. — This  is  burnt  up  too  much. 

That  is  not  nice  and  cleanly. — That’s  well  done. 

Mind,  and  do  so  again.” — I spare  no  pains. 

And  give  them  the  best  precepts  that  I can. 

In  short,  I bid  them  look  into  the  dishes. 

As  in  a mirror,  Demea,  and  thence  learn 
The  duty  of  a cook. — This  school  of  ours, 

I own,  is  idle:  but  what  can  you  do? 

According  to  the  man  must  be  the  lesson. 

— Would  you  aught  else  with  us? 

Dem.  Your  reformation. 

Syrus.  Do  you  go  hence  into  tlie  country? 


Sc.  Vi.j 


THE  BROTHERS. 


511 


Dem.  Straight. 

Syrus.  For  what  should  j'oii  do  lierc,  where  nobody, 
However  good  your  precepts,  cares  to  mind  them?  {Exit. 

Scene  Y. 

Demea  alone. 

I then  will  hence,  since  he,  on  whose  account 
I hither  came,  is  gone  into  the  country. 

He  is  my  only  care,  yie’s  my  concern. 

My  brother,  since  he  needs  will  have  it  so. 

May  look  to  iEschinus  himself. But  who 

Is  coming  yonder?  Hegio,  of  our  tribe? 

If  I see  plainly,  beyond  doubt  ’tis  he. 

Ah,  we’ve  been  old  acquaintance  quite  from  boys ; 

And  such  men  nowadays  are  wondrous  scarce. 

A citizen  of  ancient  faith  and  virtue! 

The  commonwealth  will  ne’er  reap  harm  from  him. 

How  I rejoice  to  see  but  the  remains 
Of  this  old  stock!  Ah,  life’s  a pleasure  now. 

I’ll  wait,  that  I may  ask  about  his  health. 

And  have  a little  conversation  with  him. 

Scene  VI. 

Enter  Hegio,  Geta  conversing  at  a distance. 

Hegio.  Good  Heaven ! a most  unworthy  action,  Geta ! 
Geta.  Ev’n  so. 

Hegio.  A deed  so  base 
Sprung  from  that  family? — Oh  .^schinus. 

I’m  sure  this  w^as  not  acting  like  your  father. 

Dem.  {behind).  So ! he  has  heard  about  this  Music-Girl, 
And  is  affected  at  it,  thougl^  a stranger. 

While  his  good  father  truly  thinks  it  nothing. 

Oh  monstrous!  would  that  he  were  somewhere  nigh. 

And  heard  all  this! 

Hegio.  Unless  they  do  what’s  just. 

They  shall  not  carry  oft'  the  matter  thus. 

Geta.  Our  only  hope  is  in  you,  Hegio. 

You’re  our  sole  friend,  our  guardian,  and  our  father, 

The  good  old  Simulus,  on  his  death-bed 
Bequeath’d  us  to  your  care.  If  you  desert  us. 

We  are  undone  indeed. 

Hegio.  Ah,  name  it  not ! 

I will  not,  and  with  honesty,  I can  not. 

Dem.  I’ll  go  up  to  him. — Save  you,  Hegio! 

Hegio.  The  man  I look’d  for. — Save  you,  Demea! 

Dem.  Your  pleasure ! 

Hegio.  JEschinus,  your  elder  son. 

Adopted  by  your  brother,  lias  committed 


THE  BROTHERS. 


[Act  III.,  Sc.  VI. 


A deed  unworthy  of  an  lionest  man, 

And  of  a gentleman. 

Dem.  How  so? 

Hegio.  You  knew 

Our  friend  and  good  acquaintance,  Simulus.^ 
Dem.  Aye,  sure. 

Hegio.  He  has  debauch’d  his  daughter. 


Dem.  How!  . ... 

Hegio.  Hold,  Demea,  for  the  worst  is  still  to  come. 

Dem.  Is  there  aught  worse? 

Hegio.  Much  worse : for  this  perhaps 
Mio-ht  be  excus’d.  The  night,  love,  wine,  and  youth, 

Might  prompt  him.  ’Tis  the  frailty  of  our  natuie. 

Soon  as  his  sense  returning  made  him  conscious 

Of  his  rash  outrage,  of  his  own  accord 
He  came  to  the  girl’s  mother,  weeping,  praying, 

Entreating,  vowing  constancy,  and  swearing  ^ 

That  he  would  take  her  home.— He  was^  forgiven ; 

The  thing  conceal’d;  and  his  vows  creditecL 
The  girl  from  that  encounter  prov’d  with  child: 

This  is  the  tenth  month. — He,  good  gentleman. 

Has  got  a music-girl,  Heav’n  bless  the  mark . 

With  whom  he  means  to  live,  and  quit  the  other. 

Dem.  And  are  you  well  assur’d  of  this? 

Hegio.  The  mother, 

The  ^ irl,  the  fact  itself,  are  all  before  you. 

Joining  to  vouch  the  truth  on’t.  And  besides, 

This  Geta  here— as  servants  go,  no  bad  one, 

Nor  given  up  to  idleness — maintains  them ; 

The  sole  support  of  all  the  family. 

Here  take  him,  bind  him,  force  the  truth  froin  him. 

Geta.  Aye,  torture  me,  if  ’tis  not  so,  good  Demea . 

Nay,  .^schinus,  I’m  sure,  will  not  deny  it. 

Bring  me  before  him.  ^ 

Dem.  (aside).  I’m  asham’d : and  what 
To  do,  or  what  to  say  to  him,  I know  not. 

Bamphila  (luithin).  Ah  me ! I’m  torn  in  pieces  . k 

pains  I . 

Juno  Lucina,  help  me!  save,  I pray  thee. 

Hegio.  Ha!  Is  she  then  in  labor,  Getaf 

HEGio.^Harkrshe  now  calls  upon  your  justice,  Demea! 
Grant  her  then  freely,  what  law  else  will  claim. 

And  Heaven  send,  that  you  may  rather  do 
What  honor  bids!  but  if  you  mean  it  not. 

Be  sure  of  this;  that  with  my  utmost  force 
I’ll  vindicate  the  girl,  and  her  dead  father  ; 

He  was  my  kinsman;  we  were  bred  together 
Erom  children;  and  our  fortunes  twin  d togethei 
In  war,  and  peace,  and  bitter  poverty. 

Wherefore  I’ll  try,  endeavor,  strive,  nay  lose 


Act  IV.,  Sc.  l.J 


THE  BROTHERS. 


513 


My  life  itself,  before  I will  forsake  them. 

— What  is  your  answer? 

Dem.  I’ll  find  out  my  brother: 

What  he  advises,  I will  follow,  Hegio. 

^ Hegio.  But  still  remember,  Demea,  that  the  more 
You  live  at  ease;  the  more  your  pow’r,  your  wealth 
Your  riches,  and  nobility;  the  more  ’ 

It  is  your  duty  to  act  honorably, 

If  you  regard  the  name  of  honest  men. 

Dem.  Go  to:  we’ll  do  you  justice. 

Hegio.  ’Twill  become  you. 

Geta,  conduct  me  in  to  Sostrata.  (^Exit  with  Geta. 


Scene  VII. 

Demea  alone. 

This^  is  no  more  than  I foretold : and  well 
If  his  intemp’rance  would  stop  here  .'—But  this 
Immoderate  indulgence  must  produce 
Some  terrible  misfortune  in  the  end. 

^ hence,  find  out  my  brother,  tell  my  news. 
And  empty  all  my  indignation  on  him. 


Scene  VIII. 

Re-enter  Hegio,  speaking  to  Sostrata  at  the  door. 

Be  of  good  cheer,  my  Sostrata ; and  comfort, 

As  much  as  in  your  pow’r,  poor  Pamphila! 

1 11  find  out  Micio,  if  he’s  at  the  Forum, 

And  tell  him  the  whole  story : if  he’ll  act 
With  honor  in  it,  why  ’tis  well ; if  not, 

Let  him  but  speak  his  mind  to  me,  and  then 
I shall  know  how  to  act  accordingly. 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 


Scene  I. 

Ctesipho,  Syrus. 

Ctes.  My  father  gone  into  the  countiy,  say  you  ? 
Syrus.  Long  since. 

Ctes.  Nay;  speak  the  truth! 

Syrus.  He’s  at  his  farm, 

And  hard  at  work,  I warrant  you. 

Ctes.  I wish, 


THE  BIKJTHEUS. 


[Act  IV. 


oil 


So  that  his  health  were  not  the  worse  for  it, 

He  might  so  heartily  fatigue  himself, 

As  to  be  forc’d  to  keep  his  bed  these  three  days  I 
Syrus.  I wish  so  too;  and  more,  if  possible. 

Ctes.  With  all  my  heart : for  I would  fain  consume, 

As  I’ve  begun,  the  livelong  day  in  pleasure. 

Nor  do  I hate  that  farm  of  ours  so  much 
For  any  thing,  as  that  it  is  so  near. 

For  if  ’twas  at  a greater  distance,  night 
Would  come  upon  him  ere  he  could  return. 

But  now,  not  finding  me,  I’m  very  sure 
He’ll  hobble  back  again  immediately; 

Question  me  where  I’ve  been,  that  I’ve  not  seen  him 
All  the  day  long ; and  what  shall  I reply  ? 

Syrus.  What?  can  you  think  of  nothing? 

Ctes.  No,  not  I. 

Syrus.  So  much  the  worse. — Have  you  no  client,  friend, 
Or  guest? 

Ctes.  I have.  What  then? 

Syrus.  You’ve  been  engag’d 
With  them. 

Ctes.  When  not  engag’d?  It  can  not  bo. 

Syrus.  It  ma3^ 

Ctes.  Aye,  marry,  for  the  day  I grant  you. 

But  if  I pass  the  night  here,  what  excuse 
Then,  Syrus  ? 

Syrus.  Ah ! I would  it  were  the  custom 
To  be  engag’d  at  night  too  with  one’s  friends! 

— But  be  at  ease ! I know  his  mind  so  well, 

That  when  he  raves  the  loudest,  I can  make  him 
As  gentle  as  a lamb. 

Ctes.  How  so? 

Syrus.  He  loves 

To  hear  you  prais’d.  I sing  your  praises  to  him. 

And  make  you  out  a little  God. 

Ctes.  Me! 

Syrus.  You. 

And  then  the  old  man  blubbers  like  a child. 

For  very  joy. — But  have  a care ! {Looking  oiit.) 

Ctes.  What  now?  ■» 

Syrus.  The  wolf  i’th’  fable! 

Ctes.  What,  my  father? 

Syrus.  He. 

Ctes.  What’s  the  best,  Syrus? 

Syrus.  In!  fly!  I’ll  take  care. 

Ctes.  You  have  not  seen  me,  if  he  asks:  d’ye  hear? 
Syrus.  Can’t  you  be  quiet?  {Pushes  out  Ctesipho.) 


Sc.  II.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


51o 


Scene  II. 


Enter  Demea  at  another  part  of  the  stage. 


Dem.  Yerily  I am 

A most  unhappy  man ! for  first  of  all, 

I can  not  find  my  brother  any  where : 

And  then  besides,  in  looking  after  him, 

I chanc’d  on  one  of  my  day  laborers. 

Who  had  but  newly  left  my  farm,  and  told  me 
Ctesipho  was  not  there.  What  shall  I do? 

Ctes.  {peeping  out).  Syrus?  ] 

Syrus.  What?  1 ^ 

Ctes.  Does  he  seek  me?  I ^ 

Syrus.  Yes.  { ^ 

Ctes.  Undone!  | * 

Syrus.  Courage ! J 

Dem.  {to  himself).  Plague  on  it,  what  ill  luck  is  this! 

I can’t  account  for  it:  but  I believe 

That  I was  born  for  nothing  but  misfortunes. 

I am  the  first  who  feels  our  woes ; the  first 
Who  knows  of  them ; the  first  who  tells  the  news : 

And  come  what  may,  I bear  the  weight  alone. 

Syrus  {behind).  Ridiculous!  he  says  he  knows  all  first; 
And  he  alone  is  ignorant  of  all. 


Dem.  I’m  now  return’d  to  see  if  Micio 
Be  yet  come  home  again. 

Ctes.  {peeping  out).  Take  care,  good  Syrus, 

He  don’t  rush  in  upon  us  unawares! 

Syrus.  Peace ! I’ll  take  care. 

Ctes.  ’Faith,  I’ll  not  trust  to  you. 

But  shut  myself  and  her  in  some  by-place 
Together:  that’s  the  safest. 

Syrus.  Well,  away!  (Ctesipho  disappears.) 

I’ll  drive  the  old  man  hence,  I warrant  you.  ^ 

Dem.  {seeing  Syrus).  But  see  that  rascal  Syrus  coming  hither! 
Syrus  {advancing  hastily^  and  pretendmg  not  to  see  Demea). 
By  Hercules,  there  is  no  living  here. 

For  any  one,  at  this  rate. — I’d  fain  know 
How  many  masters  I’m  to  have. — Oh  monstrous ! 

Dem.  What  does  he  howl  for?  what’s  the  meaning  on’t? 
Hark  ye,  my  good  Sir!  prithee  tell  me  if 
My  brother  be  at  home. 

Syrus.  My  good  Sir!  Plague! 

Why  do  you  come  with  your  good  Sirs  to  me? 

I’m  half-kill’d. 

Dem.  What’s  the  matter? 

Syrus.  What’s  the  matter! 

Ctesipho,  vengeance  on  him,  fell  upon  me. 

And  cudgel’d  me  and  the  poor  Music-Girl 
Almost  to  death. 


IG 


THE  BROTHERS. 


[Act  IV. 


Dem.  Indeed? 

Syrus.  Indeed.  Nay  see 
How  he  has  cut  my  lip.  {Pretending  to  show  it,) 

Dem.  On  what  account? 

Syrus.  The  girl,  he  says,  was  bought  by  my  advice. 

Dem.  Did  not  you  say  you  saw  him  out  of  town 
A little  while  ago? 

Syrus.  And  so  I did. 

But  he  came  back  soon  after,  like  a madman. 

He  had  no  mercy. — Was  not  ho  asham’d 
To  beat  a poor  old  fellow  ? to  beat  me ; 

Who  bore  him  in  my  arms  but  t’other  day. 

An  urchin  thus  high?  (Showing.) 

Dem.  Oh  rare,  Ctesipho! 

Father’s  own  son ! a man,  I warrant  him. 

Syrus.  Oh  rare,  d’ye  cry?  I’ faith,  if  he  is  wise, 

He’ll  hold  his  hands  another  time. 

Dem.  Oh  brave! 

Syrus.  Oh  mighty  brave,  indeed! — Because  he  beat 
A helpless  girl,  and  me  a wretched  slave. 

Who  durst  not  strike  again ; — oh,  to  be  sure, 

Mighty  brave,  truly ! 

Dem.  Oh,  most  exquisite! 

My  Ctesipho  perceived,  as  well  as  I, 

That  you  was  the  contriver  of  this  business, 

— But  is  my  brother  here  ? 

Syrus.  Not  he.  {Sulkily.) 

Dem.  I’m  thinking 
Where  I shall  seek  him. 

Syrus.  I know  where  he  is : 

But  I’ll  not  tell. 

Dem.  How,  Sirrah  ? 

Syrus.  Even  so. 

Dem.  I’ll  break  your  head. 

Syrus.  I can  not  tell  the  name 
Of  him  he’s  gone  to,  but  I know  the  place. 

Dem.  Well,  where’s  the  place  ? 

Syrus.  D’ye  know  the  Portico 
Just  by  the  market,  down  this  way?  {Pointing.) 

Dem.  I do. 

Syrus.  Go  up  that  street ; keep  straight  along : and  then 
You’ll  see  a hill ; go  straight  down  that : and  then 
On  this  hand,  there’s  a chapel ; and  just  by 
A narrow  lane.  (Pointing.) 

Dem.  Where  ? (Looking.) 

Syrus.  There ; by  the  great  wild  fig-tree. 

D’ye  know  it.  Sir  ? 

Dem.  I do. 

Syrus.  Go  through  that  lane. 

Dem.  That  lane’s  no  thoroughfare. 

Syrus.  Aye,  very  true  : 


Sc.  IV.  1 


THK  BUOTIIEUS. 


517 


No  more  it  is,  Sir. — What  a fool  I am ! 

I was  mistaken — You  must  go  quite  back 
Into  the  portico ; and  after  all, 

This  is  the  nearest  and  the  safest  way. 

— D’ye  know  Cratinus’  house  ? the  rich  man  ? 

Dem.  Aye. 

Syrus.  When  you’ve  pass’d  that,  turn  short  upon  the  left. 
Keep  straight  along  that  street,  and  when  you  reach 
Diana’s  Temple,  turn  upon  the  right. 

And  then,  on  this  side  of  the  city  gate, 

Just  by  the  pond,  there  is  a baker’s  shop, 

And  opposite  a joiner’s. — There  he  is. 

Dem.  What  business  has  he  there  ? 

Syrus.  He  has  bespoke 
Some  tables  to  be  made  with  oaken  legs 
To  stand  the  sun. 

Dem.  For  you  to  drink  upon. 

Oh  brave ! But  I lose  time.  I’ll  after  liim. 

{Kxit  Jiastiii). 


Scene  III. 

Syrus  alone. 

Aye,  go  your  ways ! I’ll  work  your  old  shrunk  shanks 
As  you  deserve,  old  Drybones ! — JEschinus 
Loiters  intolerabl3^  Dinner’s  spoil’d. 

Ctesipho  thinks  of  nothing  but  his  girl. 

’Tis  time  for  me  to  look  to  myself  too. 

Faith,  then  I’ll  in  immediately;  pick  out 
All  the  tid-bits,  and  tossing  off  my  cups. 

In  lazy  leisure  lengthen  out  the  day.  (Exit. 


Scene  IV. 

Enter  Micio  and  Hegio. 

Micio.  I can  see  nothing  in  this  matter,  Hegio, 
Wherein  I merit  so  much  commendation. 

’Tis  but  my  duty,  to  redress  the  wrongs 

That  we  have  caus’d:  unless  perhaps  you  took  me 

For  one  of  those  who,  having  injur’d  you, 

Term  fair  expostulation  an  affront ; 

And  having  first  offended,  are  the  first 
To  turn  accusers. — I’ve  not  acted  thus : 

And  is’t  for  this  that  I am  thank’d? 

Hegio.  Ah,  no ; 

I never  thought  you  other  than  you  are. 

But  let  me  beg  you,  Micio,  go  with  me 
To  the  young  woman’s  mother,  and  repeat 
Yourself  to  her  wlmt  yon  have  just  told  me  : 


518 


THE  BIIOTHERS. 


[Act  IV. 


— That  the  suspicion,  fall’n  on  JEschinus, 

Sprang  from  liis  brother  and  the  Music-Girl. 

Micio.  If  you  believe  I ought,  or  think  it  needful, 

Let’s  go ! 

Hegio.  ’Tis  very  kind  in  you  : for  thus 
You’ll  raise  her  spirit  drooping  with  the  load 
Of  grief  and  misery,  and  have  perform’d 
Ev’ry  good  office  of  benevolence. 

But  if  you  like  it  not.  I’ll  go  myself. 

And  tell  her  the  whole  story. 

Micio.  No,  I’ll  go. 

Hegio.  ’Tis  good  and  tender  in  your  nature,  Micio. 

For  they,  whose  fortunes  are  less  prosperous. 

Are  all  I know  not  how,  the  more  suspicious ; 

And  think  themselves  neglected  and  contemn’d. 

Because  of  their  distress  and  poverty. 

AVherefore  I think  ’twould  satisfy  them  more 
If  you  would  clear  up  this  affair  yourself. 

Micio.  What  you  have  said  is  just,  and  very  true. 
Hegio.  Let  me  conduct  you  in  ! 

Micio.  With  all  my  heart.  (^Exeunt. 


Scene  Y. 
iEscHiNus  alone. 

Oh  torture  to  my  mind ! that  this  misfortune 
Should  come  thus  unexpectedly  upon  me ! 

I know  not  what  to  do,  which  way  to  turn. 

Fear  shakes  my  limbs,  amazement  fills  my  soul. 

And  in  my  breast  despair  shuts  out  all  counsel. 

Ah,  by  what  means  can  I acquit  myself? 

Such  a suspicion  is  now  fallen  on  me; 

And  that  too  grounded  on  appearances. 

Sostrata  thinks  that  on  my  own  account 
I bought  the  Music-Girl.  That’s  plain  enough 
From  the  old  nurse.  For  meeting  her  by  chance. 

As  she  was  sent  from  hence  to  call  a midwife, 

I ran,  and  ask’d  her  of  my  Pamphila. 

— “Is  she  in  labor?  are  you  going  now 
To  call  a midwife  ?” — “ Go,  go,  ^schinus ! 

Away»  you  have  deceiv’d  us  long  enough, 

Fool’d  us  enough  with  your  fine  promises,” 

Cried  she. — “What  now?”  says  I. — “Farewell,  enjoy 
The  girl  that  you’re  so  taken  with !” — I saw 
Immediately  their  cause  of  jealousy  : 

Yet  I contain’d  myself,  nor  would  disclose 
My  brother’s  business  to  a tattling  gossip. 

By  whom  the  knowledge  on’t  might  be  betray’d. 

— But  what  shall  I do  now  ? shall  I confess 
The  girl  to  be  my  brotlicr’s ; an  affair 


.Sc.  \L^ 


THE  BUOTHERS. 


510 


'Wfiioli  should  by  no  means  be  reveal’d  ? — But  not 
To  dwell  on  that. — Perhaps  the^^’d  not  disclose  it. 

Nay,  I much  doubt  if  they  would  credit  it: 

So  many  proofs  concur  against  myself. 

I bore  her  olf:  I paid  the  money  down; 

She  was  brought  home  to  me. — All  this,  I own, 

Is  my  own  fault.  Eor  should  I not  have  told 
My  father,  be  it  as  it  might,  the  whole? 

I should,  I doubt  not,  have  obtain’d  his  leave 
To  marry  Pamphila. — What  indolence, 

Ev’n,  till  this  hour!  now,  AEschinus,  awake! 

— But  first  I’ll  go  and  clear  myself  to  them. 

I’ll  to  the  door.  (Goes  np.)  Confusion!  how  I tremble! 

How  guilty  like  I seem  when  I approach 

This  house  ! (Knocks.)  Holloa ! within  ! ’Tis  I ; 

’Tis  iEschinus.  Come,  open  somebody 

The  door  immediately ! — Who’s  here  ? A stranger ! 

I’ll  step  aside.  (Retires.) 


Scene  VI. 

Enter  Micio. 

Micio  (to  SosTRATA,  Within).  Do  as  I have  told  you,  Sostrata. 
I’ll  find  out  ^schinus,  and  tell  him  all. 

— But  who  knock’d  at  the  door?  (Coming  forward.) 

-®scii.  {behind^.  By  Heav’n,  my  father ! 

Confusion ! 

Micio  (seeing  him).  JEschinus  ! 

AEscii.  What  does  he  here  ? (Aside.) 

Micio.  Was’t  you  that  knock’d?  What,  not  a word!  Sup- 
pose 

I banter  him  a little.  He  deserves  it, 

For  never  trusting  this  afiair  to  me.  (Aside.) 

— ^Why  don’t  you  speak  ? 

iEscii.  Not  I,  as  I remember.  (Disordered.) 

Micio.  No,  I dare  say,  not  you:  for  I was  wond’ring 
What  business  could  have  brought  you  here. — He  blushes. 
All’s  safe,  I find.  (Aside.) 

-dCscH.  (recovering.)  But  prithee,  tell  me.  Sir, 

What  brought  you  here  ? 

Micio.  No  business  of  my  own. 

But  a friend  drew  me  hither  from  the  Forum, 

To  be  his  advocate. 

-d^scH.  In  what  ? 

Micio.  I’ll  tell  you. 

This  house  is  tenanted  by  some  poor  women. 

Whom,  I believe,  you  know  not ; — Nay,  I’m  sure  on’t^ 

For  ’twas  but  lately  they  came  over  hither. 
iEscH.  Well? 

Micio.  A young  woman  and  lier  mother. 


520 


THE  BKOTHEUS. 


[Act  IV. 


tEsch.  Well? 

Micio.  The  father’s  dead. — This  friend  of  mine,  it  seems, 
Being  her  next  relation,  by  the  law 
Is  forc’d  to  marry  her. 

^SCH.  Confusion ! {AsideS) 

Micio.  How  ? 

AEsch.  Nothing. — Well? — pray  go  on,  Sir! — 

Micio.  He’s  now  come 
To  take  her  home,  for  he  is  of  Miletus. 

^SCH.  How  ! take  her  home  with  him  ? 

Micio.  Yes,  take  her  home. 

-®SCH.  What,  to  Miletus? 

Micio.  Aye. 

^SCH.  Oh  torture!  {Aside.) — ^AVell? 

What  say  the  women  ? 

Micio.  Why,  ^fhat  should  they  ? Nothing. 

Indeed  the  mother  has  devis’d  a tale 
About  her  daughter’s  having  had  a child 
By  some  one  else,  but  never  mentions  whom : 

His  claim,  she  says,  is  prior ; and  my  friend 
Ought  not  to  have  her. 

^SCH.  Well?  and  did  not  this 
Seem  a sufficient  reason  ? 

Micio.  No. 

AEsch.  No,  Sir? 

And  shall  this  next  relation  take  her  off? 

Micio.  Aye,  to  be  sure:  why  not? 

AEsch.  Oh  barbarous,  cruel! 

And  to  speak  plainly.  Sir — ungenerous ! 

Micio.  Why  so? 

^SCH.  Why  so.  Sir? — What  d’ye  think 
Will  come  of  him,  the  poor  unhappy  youth 
Who  was  connected  with  her  first — who  still 
Loves  her,  perhaps,  as  dearly  as  his  life; — 

When  he  shall  see  her  torn  out  of  his  arms. 

And  borne  away  forever  ? — Oh  shame,  shame  ! 

^ Micio.  Where  is  the  shame  on’t  ? — Who  betroth’d,  who 
gave  her  ? 

When  was  she  married  ? and  to  whom  ? Where  is  he. 

And  wherefore  did  he  wed  another’s  right  ? 

^scH.  Was  it  for  her,  a girl  of  such  an  age, 

To  sit  at  home,  expecting  till  a kinsman 
Came,  nobody  knows  whence,  to  marry  her? 

— This,  Sir,  it  was  your  business  to  have  said, 

And  to  have  dwelt  on  it. 

Micio.  Kidiculous ! 

Should  I have  pleaded  against  him  to  whom 
I came  an  advocate  ? — But  after  all, 

What’s  this  affair  to  us?  or,  what  have  we 

To  do  with  them  ? let’s  go  ! — Ha  ! why  those  tears  ? 

JEsch.  Father,  beseech  yon,  hear  me  ! 


Sr.  VI.J 


THE  BHOTllERS. 


521 


Micio.  iEscliinus, 

I hiive  heard  all,  aud  I know  all,  already : 

For  I do  love  you;  wherefore  all  your  actions 
Touch  me  the  more. 

il^scii.  So  may  you  ever  love  me, 

And  so  may  I deserve  your  love,  my  father. 

As  I am  sorry  to  have  done  this  fault. 

And  am  asham’d  to  see  you ! 

Micio.  I believe  it ; 

For  well  I know  3^011  have  a liberal  mind: 

But  I’m  afraid  you  are  too  negligent. 

For  ill  what  city  do  you  think  you  live  ? 

You  have  abus’d  a virgin,  whom  the  law 
Forbade  3’our  touching. — ’Twas  a fault,  a great  one; 
But  yet  a natural  failing.  Many  others. 

Some  not  bad  men,  have  often  done  the  same. 

— But  after  this  event,  can  you  pretend 
You  took  the  least  precaution?  or  consider’d 
What  should  be  done,  or  how  ? — If  shame  forbade 
Your  telling  me  yourself,  you  should  have  found 
Some  other  means  to  let  me  know  of  it. 

Lost  in  these  doubts,  ten  months  have  slipp’d  away. 
You  have  betray’d,  as  far  as  in  you  lay. 

Yourself,  the  poor  young  woman,  and  your  child. 
What ! did  you  think  the  Gods  would  bring  about 
This  business  'in  your  sleep ; and  that  your  wife, 
AVithout  your  stir,  would  be  convey’d  to  you 
Into  your  bed-chamber? — I would  not  have  you 

Thus  negligent  in  other  matters. Come, 

Cheer  up,  son  I }'ou  shall  wed  her. 
iEscii.  IIov/! 

Micio.  Cheer  up, 

I say! 

^Jscii.  Nay,  prithee,  do  not  mock  me,  father ! 
Micio.  Mock  you  ? I ? wherefore  ? 

JEsch.  I don’t  know  ; unless 
That  I so  much  desire  it  may  be  true, 

I therefore  fear  it  more. 

Micio.  Away;  go  home; 

And  pray  the  Gods,  that  you  may  call  your  wife. 
Away ! 

iEscH.  How’s  that  ? my  wife  ? what ! now  ? 

Micio.  Now. 

AEsch.  Now? 

Micio.  Ev’n  now,  as  soon  as  possible. 

^SCH.  May  all  . 

The  Gods  desert  me.  Sir,  but  I do  love  you^ 

More  than  my  eyes  ? 

Micio.  Than  her? 

.iFscH.  As  well. 

Micio.  That’s  much. 


522 


[Act  IV. 


TlJE  buotheh:v 

^^scii.  But  wlierc  is  that  Milesian  ? 

Micio.  Gone : 

Vanish’d:  on  hoard  the  ship. — But  why  d’ye  loiter? 

AEscii.  Ah,  Sir,  you  rather  go,  and  pray  the  Gods ; 

For,  being  a much  better  man  tlian  I, 

They  will  the  sooner  hear  your  j)ray’rs. 

Micio.  I’ll  in. 

To  see  the  needful  preparations  made. 

You,  if  you’re  Avise,  do  as  I said.  {Exit, 

Scene  VII. 
yEsciiiNus  alone. 

How’s  this  ? 

Is  this  to  be  a 'father?  Or  is  this 

To  be  a son? — Were  he  my  friend  or  brother. 

Could  he  be  more  complacent  to  my  wish  ? 

Should  I not  love  him  ? bear  him  in  my  bosom ! 

Ah ! his  great  kindness  has  so  wrought  upon  me, 

That  it  shall  be  the  study  of  my  life 
To  shun  all  follies,  lest  they  give  him  pain. 

— But  I’ll  in  straight,  that  I may  not  retard 

My  marriage  by  my  own  delay.  {Exit. 


Scene  VIII. 

Demea  alone. 

I’m  tir’d 

With  Avalking. — Now  great  Jove  confound  you,  Syrus  ; 

You  and  your  blind  directions ! I have  crawl’d 
All  the  town  over : to  the  gate ; the  pond  ; 

Where  not  ? No  sign  of  any  shop  was  there. 

Nor  any  person  who  had  seen  my  brother. 

— Now  I’ll  in,  therefore,  and  set  up  my  rest 

In  his  own  house,  till  he  comes  home  again.  {Going. 

Scene  IX. 

Enter  Micio. 

Micio.  I’ll  go  and  let  the  women  know  we’re  ready. 
Dem.  But  here  he  is. — I have  long  sought  you,  Micio. 
Micio.  What  now? 

Dem.  I bring  you  more  offenses ; great  ones ; 

Of  that  sweet  youth 

Micio.  See  there ! 

Dem.  New  ; capital ! 

Micio.  Nay,  nay,  no  more ! 

Dem.  Ah,  you  don’t  know 

Micio.  I do. 


Sc.  lX.j 


THE  BROTHERS. 


523 


Dem.  ()  foo],  you  think  I mean  the  Music-Girl. 

This  is  a rape  upon  a citizen. 

Micio.  I know  it. 

Dem.  How  ? d’ye  know  it,  and  endure  it  ? 

Micio.  Why  not  endure  it? 

Dem.  Tell  me,  don’t  you  rave  ? 

Don’t  you  go  mad  ? 

Micio.  No  : to  be  sure  I’d  rather 

Dem.'  There’s  a child  born. 

Micio.  Heav’n  bless  it  I 
Dem.  And  the  girl 
Has  nothing. 

Micio.  I have  heard  so. 

Dem.  And  is  he 

To  marry  her  without  a fortune  ? 

Micio.  Aye. 

Dem.  What’s  to  be  done  then  ? 

Micio.  What  the  case  requires. 

Tlie  girl  shall  be  brought  over  here. 

Dem.  Oh  Jove ! 

Can  that  be  proper? 

Micio.  What  can  I do  else  ? 

De-m.  What  can  you  do ! — If  you’re  not  really  griev’d. 
It  were  at  least  your  duty  to  appear  so. 

Micio.  I have  contracted  the  young  woman  to  him : 
The  thing  is  settled  : ’tis  their  wedding-day : 

And  all  their  apprehensions  I’ve  remov’d. 

This  is  still  more  my  duty. 

. Dem.  Are  you  pleas’d  then 
AVith  this  adventure,  Micio  ? 

Micio.  Not  at  all. 

If  I could  help  it : now  ’tis  past  all  cure, 

I bear  it  patiently.  The  life  of  man 
Is  like  a game  at  tables.  If  the  cast 
Which  is  most  necessary  be  not  thrown. 

That  which  chance  sends  you  must  correct  by  art. 

Dem.  Oh  rare  Corrector  ! — By  your  art  no  less 
Than  twenty  minaj  have  been  thrown  away 
On  yonder  Music-wench ; who  out  of  hand, 

Must  be  sent  packing ; if  no  buyer,  gratis. 

Micio.  Not  in  the  least ; nor  do  I mean  to  sell  lier. 
Dem.  What  will  you  do,  then  ? 

Micio.  Keep  her  in  my  house. 

Dem.  Oil  Heav’n  and  earth ! a harlot  and  a wife 
In  me  same  house ! 

Micio.  Why  not  ? 

Dem.  Have  you  your  wits  ? 

Micio.  Truly  I think  so. 

Dem.  Now,  so  help  me  Heav’n, 

Seeing  your  folly,  I believe  you  keep  her 
To  sing  with  you. 


THE  BROTHERS. 


[Act  IV. 


Micio.  Why  not  ? 

Hem.  And  the  young  bride 
Shall  be  her  pupil  ? 

Micio.  To  be  sure. 

Dem.  And  you 

Dance  hand  iii  hand  with  tliem  ? 

Micio.  Aye. 

Dem.  Aye? 

Micio.  And  you 

Make  one  among  us  too  upon  occasion. 

Dem.  Ah ! arc  you  not  asham’d  on’t  ? 

Micio.  Patience,  Demea ! 

I<ay  by  your  wrath,  and  seem,  as  it  becomes  you. 

Cheerful  and  free  of  heart  at  your  son’s  wedding. 

— I’ll  but  speak  with  the  bride  and  Sostrata, 

And  then  return  to  you  immediately.  {Exit, 


Scene  X. 

Demea  alone. 

Jove,  what  a life ! w'hat  manners  ! what  distraction  ! 

A bride  just  coming  home  without  a portion  ; 

A Music-Girl  already  there  in  keeping: 

A house  of  waste  ; the  youth  a libertine  ; 

Th’  old  man  a dotard ! — ’Tis  not  in  the  pow’r 
Of  Providence  herself,  howe’er  desirous, 

To  save  from  ruin  such  a family. 

Scene  XI. 

Enter  at  a distance  Syrus,  drunh. 

Syrus  (to  himself').  Faith,  little  Syrus,  you’ve  ta’en  si:)ecial 
care 

Of  your  sweet  self,  and  play’d  your  part  most  rarely. 

— Well,  go  your  ways  : — but  having  had  my  fill 
Of  ev’ry  thing  within,  I’ve  now  march’d  forth 
To  take  a turn  or  two  abroad. 

Dem.  (behind).  Look  there! 

A pattern  of  instruction ! 

Syrus  {seeing  him).  But  see  there : 

Yonder’s  oid  Demea.  (Going  vp  to  him.)  AVhat’s  the  mfditer  now? 
And  why  so  melaficholy  ? 

Dem.  Oh  thou  villain! 

Syrus.  What!  are  you  spouting  sentences,  old  wisdom? 

Dem.  Were  you  my  servant 

Syrus.  You’d  be  plaguy  rich. 

And  settle  your  affairs  most  wonderfully. 

Dem.  I’d  make  you  an  example. 

Syrus.  Why?  for  what? 


Sc.  XIV.] 


THE  15  UO 


Dem.  Why,  Sirrah? — In  the 
And  in  the  heat  of  a most  hea 
While  all  is  yet  confusion,  yoii’v 
As  if  for  joy,  you  rascal ! 

Syrus.  Why  the  plague 
Did  not  I keep  within?  {Aside.) 

Scene  XII. 

Enter  Dromo,  hastily/. 

Dromo.  Here  ! hark  ye,  Syrus  I 
Ctesipho  begs  that  you’d  come  back. 

Syrus.  Away!  {Pushes  him  off.) 

Dem.  What’s  this  he  says  of  Ctesipho  ? 

Syrus.  Pshaw!  nothing. 

Dem.  How!  dog,  is  Ctesipho  within? 

Syrus.  Not  he. 

Dem.  Why  does  he  name  him  then? 

Syrus.  It  is  another. 

Of  the  same  name — a little  parasite — 

D’ye  know  him? 

Dem.  But  I will  immediately.  {Going.) 

Syrus  {stopping  him).  What  now?  where  now? 

Dem.  Let  me  alone.  } j. 

Syrus.  Don’t  go!  \ Struggling. 

Dem.  Plands  off!  what  won’t  you?  must  I brain  you,  rascal? 

{Diserigages  himself  from  Syrus,  and  Exit. 

Scene  XIII. 

Syrus  alone. 

He’s  gone — gone  in — and  faith  no  welcome  roarer — 

— Especially  to  Ctesipho. — But  what 
Can  I do  now;  unless,  till  this  blows  over, 

I sneak  into  some  corner,  and  sleep  off 
This  wine  that  lies  upon  my  head? — I’ll  do’t. 

{Exit  reeling. 

Scene  XIV. 

Enter  lAicio from  Sostrata. 

Micio  {to  Sostrata  within). 

All  is  prepar’d : and  we  are  ready,  Sostrata, 

As  I have  already  told  you,  when  you  please.  {Comes  forward.) 
But  who’s  this  forces  open  our  street  door 
With  so  much  violence? 

Enter  Demea  on  Vother  side. 

Dem.  Confusion!  death! 


at. 


f all’s  discover’d : that’s  the  thing  he  raves 


fow  resolve?  where  vent 
dons?  Heav’n ! Earth!  Sea! 


IIOTHERS. 


[Act  IV. 


I 


— Now  for  a quarrel ! — I must  help  the  boy. 

Dem.  (seeing  him).  Oh,  there’s  the  grand  corrupter  of  our 
children ! 

Micio.  Appease  your  wrath,  and  be  yourself  again ! 

Dem.  Well,  I’ve  appeas’d  it;  I’m  myself  again; 

I spare  reproaches ; let  us  to  the  point ! 

It  was  agreed  between  us,  and  it  was 
Your  own  proposal  too,  that  you  should  never 
Concern  yourself  with  Ctesipho,  nor  I 
With  ^schinus.  Say,  was’t  not  so? 

Micio.  It  was. 

I don’t  deny  it. 

Dem.  Why  does  Ctesipho 
Revel  with  you  then?  Why  do  you  receive  him? 

Buy  him  a mistress,  Micio?— Is  not  justice 
My  due  from  you,  as  well  as  yours  from  me? 

Since  I do  not  concern  myself  with  yours, 

Meddle  not  you  with  mine ! 

Micio.  This  is  not  fair; 

Indeed  it  is  not.  Think  on  the  old  saying, 

“All  things  are  common  among  friends.” 

Dem.  How  smart ! 

Put  olf  with  quips  and  sentences  at  last! 

Micio.  Nay,  hear  me,  if  you  can  have  patience,  Demea. 

— First,  if  you’re  griev’d  at  their  extravagance. 

Let  this  reflection  calm  you!  Formerly, 


rYou  bred  them  both  according  to  your  fortune, 
Supposing  it  sufficient  for  them  both : 

Then  too  you  thought  that  I should  take  a wife. 
Still  follow  the  old  rule  you  then  laid  down: 
Hoard,  scrape,  and  save;  do  ev’ry  thing  you  can 
To  leave  them  nobly ! Be  that  glory  yours. 

My  fortune,  fall’n  beyond  their  hopes  upon  them, 
Let  them  use  freely ! As  your  capital 
Will  not  be  wasted,  what  addition  comes 
From  mine,  consider  as  clear  gain : and  thus. 
Weighing  all  this  impartially,  you’ll  spare 
Yourself,  and  me,  and  them,  a world  of  trouble. 


Dem.  Money  is  not  the  thing:  their  morals 

Micio.  Hold! 

I understand;  and  meant  to  speak  of  that. 

There  are  in  nature  sundry  marks,  good  Demea, 
By  which  you  may  conjecture  easily, 

That  when  two  persons  do  the  self-same  • thing, 

It  oftentimes  falls  out  that  in  the  one 
’Tis  criminal,  in  t’other  ’tis  not^so: 

Not  that  the  thing  itself  is  different, 


Sc  XIV.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


527 


But  he  who  does  it. — In  these  youths  I see 
The  marks  of  virtue;  and,  I trust,  they’ll  prove 
Such  as  we  wish  them.  They  have  sense,  I know; 

Attention;  in  its  season,  liberal  shame; 

And  fondness  for  each  other;  all  sure  signs 
Of  an  ingenuous  mind  and  noble  nature: 

And  though  they  stray,  you  may  at  any  time 
Reclaim  them. — But  perhaps  you  fear  they’ll  prove 
Too  inattentive  to  their  interest. 

Oh  my  dear  Demea,  in  all  matters  else 
Increase  of  years  increases  wisdom  in  us : 

This  only  vice  age  brings  along  with  it ; 

“ We’re  all  more  worldly-minded  than  there’s  need 
Which  passion  age,  that  kills  all  passions  else. 

Will  ripen  in  your  sons  too. 

Dem.  Have  a care 

That  these  fine  arguments  and  this  great  mildness 
Don’t  prove  the  ruin  of  us,  Micio. 

Micio.  Peace! 

It  shall  not  be : away  with  all  your  fears ! 

This  day  be  rul’d  by  me : come,  smooth  your  brow. 

Dem.  Well,  since  at  present  things  are  so,  I must. 

But  then  I’ll  to  the  country  with  my  son 
To-morrow,  at  first  peep  of  day. 

Micio.  At  midnight, 

So  you’ll  but  smile  to-day. 

Dem.  And  that  wench  too 
I’ll  drag  away  with  me. 

Micio.  Aye  ; there  you’ve  hit  it. 

Por  by  that  means  you’ll  keep  your  son  at  home; 

Do  but  secure  her. 

Dem.  I’ll  see  that:  for  there 
I’ll  put  her  in  the  kitchen  and  the  mill. 

And  make  her  full  of  ashes,  smoke,  and  meal : 

Nay  at  high  noon  too  she  shall  gather  stubble. 

I’ll  burn  her  up,  and  make  her  black  as  coal. 

Micio.  Right ! now  you’re  wise. — And  then  I’d  make  my 
son 

Go  to  bed  to  her,  though  against  his  will. 

Dem.  D’ve  laugh  at  me  ? how  happy  in  your  temper ! 

I feel *' 

Micio.  Ah ! that  again  ? 

Dem.  I’ve  done. 

Micio.  In  then! 

And  let  us  suit  our  humor  to  the  time. 


{Exeunt, 


528 


THE  BKOTHEKS. 


[Act  V. 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 

Scene  I. 

Demea  alone. 

Never  did  man  lay  down  so  fair  a plan, 

So  wise  a rule  of  life,  but  fortune,  age,  ^ 

Or  long  experience  made  some  change  in  it; 

And  taught  him  that  those  things  he  thought  he  knew 
He  did  not  know,  and  what  he  held  as  best, 

In  practice  he  threw  by.  The  very  thing 
That  happens  to  myself.  For  that  hard  life 
Which  I have  ever  led,  my  race  near  run. 

Now  in  the  last  stage,  I renounce : and  why  ? 

But  that  by  dear  experience  I’ve  been  told, 

There’s  nothing  so  advantages  a man^ 

As  mildness  and  complacency.  Of  this 
My  brother  and  myself  are  living  proofs : 

He  always  led  an  easy,  cheerful  life ; 

Good-humor’d,  mild,  offending  nobody. 

Smiling  on  all ; a jovial  bachelor. 

His  whole  expenses  centred  in  himself. 

I,  on  the  contrary,  rough,  rigid,  cross. 

Saving,  morose,  and  thrifty,  took  a wife : 

— What  miseries  did  marriage  bring  ! — had  children ; 
— A new  uneasiness  ! — and  then  besides, 

Striving  all  ways  to  make  a fortune  for  them, 

I have  worn  out  my  prime  of  life  and  health ; 

And  now,  my  course  near  finish’d,  what  return 
Do  I receive*^  for  all  my  toil?  Their  hate. 

Meanwhile  my  brother,  without  any  care. 

Reaps  all  a father’s  comforts.  Him  they  love. 

Me  they  avoid : to  him  they  open  all 
Their  secret  counsels ; doat  on  him ; and  both 
Repair  to  him ; while  I am  quite  forsaken. 

His  life  they  pray  for,  but  expect  my  death. 

Thus  those,  brought  up  by  my  exceeding  labor. 

He,  at  a small  expense,  has  made  his  own; 

The  care  all  mine,  and  all  the  pleasure  his. 

— ^Well  then,  let  me  endeavor  in  my  turn 
To  teach  my  tongue  civilit}^,  to  give 
With  open-handed  generosity. 

Since  I am  challeng’d  to’t ! — and  let  me  too 
Obtain  the  love  and  reverence  of  my  children! 

And  if  ’tis  bought  by  bounty  and  indulgence, 

I will  not  be  behind-hand.— Cash  will  fail : 

What’s  til  at  to  me,  who  am  the  eldest  born? 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


529 


Scene  II. 

Enter  Strus. 

Strus.  Oh  Sir!  your  brother  has  dispatch’d  me  to  you 
To  beg  you’d  not  go  further  off. 

Dem.  Who’s  there? 

What,  honest  Syrus ! save  you : how  is’t  with  you  ? 

How  goes  it? 

Syrus.  Very  well,  Sir. 

Dem.  {aside).  Excellent ! 

Now  for  the  first  time,  I,  against  my  nature, 

Have  added  these  three  phrases,  “ Honest  Syrus ! — 

How  is’t? — How  goes  it?” — {To  Syrus.)  You  have  prov’d 
yourself 

A worthy  servant.  I’ll  reward  you  for  it. 

Syrus.  I thank  you.  Sir. 

Dem.  I will,  I promise  you ; 

And  you  shall  be  convinc’d  on’t  very  soon. 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Geta. 

Geta  (to  SosTRATA  ivithhi).  Madam,  I’m  going  to  look  after 
them. 

That  they  may  call  the  bride  immediately. 

But  here  is  Demea.  Save  you ! 

Dem.  Oh!  your  name? 

Geta.  Geta,  Sir. 

Dem.  Geta,  I this  day  have  found  you 
To  be  a fellow  of  uncommon  worth: 

For  sure  that  servant’s  faith  is  well  approv’d 
Who  holds  his  master’s  interest  at  heart. 

As  I perceiv’d  that  you  did,  Geta ! wherefore, 

Soon  as  occasion  offers.  I’ll  reward  you. 

— I am  endea\x)ring  to  be  affable, 

And  not  without  success.  {Aside.) 

Geta.  ’Tis  kind  in  you 
To  think  of  your  poor  slave.  Sir. 

Dem.  (aside).  First  of  all 
I court  the  mob,  and  win  them  by  degrees. 

Scene  IV. 

Enter  JEschinus. 

jEsch.  They  murder  me  with  their  delays  j and  while 
They  lavish  all  this  pomp  upon  the  nuptials, 

They  waste  the  livelong  day  in  preparation, 

Z 


THE  BROTHERS. 


[Act  V. 


Dem.  How  docs  my  son  ? * 

JEsch.  My  father ! are  you  here  ? 

Dem.  Aye,  by  affection,  and  by  blood  your  father, 

Who  love  you  better  than  my  eyes. — But  why 
Do  you  not  call  the  bride? 

iEscu.  ’Tis  what  I long  for : 

But  wait  the  music  and  the  singers. 

Dem.  Pshaw! 

Will  you  for  once  be  rul’d  by  an  old  fellow  ? 

^SCH.  Well? 

Dem.  Ne’er  mind  singers,  company,  lights,  music  ; 

But  tell  them  to  throw  down  the  garden-wall, 

As  soon  as  possible.  Convey  the  bride 
That  way,  and  lay  both  houses  into  one. 

Bring  too  the  mother,  and  wdiole  family. 

Over  to  us. 

^SCH.  I will.  O charming  father  1 

Dem.  {aside).  Charming ! See  there  ! he  calls  me  charming 
now. 

—My  brother’s  house  will  be  a thoroughfare  ; 

Throng’d  with  whole  crowds  of  people ; much  expense 
Will  follow ; very  much : what’s  that  to  me  ? 

I am  call’d  charming^  and  get  into  favor. 

— Ho  ! order  Babylo  immediately 
To  pay  him  twenty  mines. — Prithee,  Syrus, 

Why  don’t  you  execute  your  orders  ? 

Syrus.  What? 

Dem.  Down  with  the  wall  \~{Exit  Syrus.)  You,  Geta,  go 
and  bring 
The  ladies  over. 

Geta.  Heaven  bless  you,  Demca, 

Eor  all  your  friendship  to  our  family  ! {Exit  Geta. 

Dem.  They’re  w^orthy  of  it.— •What  say  you  to  this  ? 

{To  -®SCHINUS.) 

JEsch.  I think  it  admirable. 

Dem.  ’Tis  much  better 
Than  for  a poor  soul,  sick,  and  lying-in, 

To  be  conducted  through  the  street. 

JEsch.  I never 

Saw  any  thing  concerted  better.  Sir. 

Dem.  ’Tis  just  my  way. — But  here  comes  Micio. 

Scene  V. 

Enter  Micio. 

Micio  {at  entering).  My  brother  order  it,  d’ye  say?  W'here 
is  he? 

— Was  this  your  order,  Demea? 

Dem.  ’Twas  my  order: 

And  by  this  means,  and  every  other  way, 


Sc.  V.] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


531 


I would  unite,  serve,  cherish,  and  oblige. 

And  join  the  family  to  ours ! 

JEsch.  Pray  do.  Sir!  {To  Micio.) 

Micio.  I don’t  oppose  it. 

Dem.  Nay,  but  ’tis  our  duty. 

First,  there’s  the  mother  of  the  bride 

Micio.  What  then  ? 

Dem.  Worthy  and  modest. 

Micio.  So  they  say. 

Dem.  In  years. 

Micio.  True. 

Dem.  And  so  far  advanc’d,  that  she  is  long 
Past  child-bearing,  a poor  lone  woman  too, 

With  none  to  comfort  her. 

Micio.  What  means  all  this  ? 

Dem.  This  woman  ’tis  your  place  to  marry,  brother ; 
— And  yours  (to  ^schinus)  to  bring  him  to’t. 

Micio.  I marry  her  ? 

Dem.  You. 

Micio.  I? 

Dem.  Yes,  you  I say. 

Micio.  Ridiculous ! 

Dem.  {to  ^scHiNUs).  If  you’re  a man,  he’ll  do’t. 
^SCH.  (to  Micio).  Dear  "father! 

Micio.  How ! 

Do  you  then  join  him,  fool  ? 

Dem.  Nay,  don’t  deny. 

It  can’t  be  otherwise. 

Micio.  You’ve  lost  your  senses ! 

-®SCH.  Let  me  prevail  upon  you,  Sir! 

Micio.  You’re  mad. 

Away! 

Dem.  Oblige  your  son. 

Micio.  Have  you  your  wits  ? 

I a new  married  man  at  sixty-five ! 

And  marry  a decrepit  poor  old  woman ! 

Is  that  what  you  advise  me ! 

^SCH.  Do  it.  Sir! 

I’ve  promis’d  them. 

Micio.  You’ve  promis’d  them,  indeed ! 

Prithee,  boy,  promise  for  yourself. 

Dem.  Come,  come ! 

What  if  he  ask’d  still  more  of  you? 

Micio.  As  if 

This  was  not  ev’n  the  utmost. 

Dem.  Nay,  comply! 

JEsch.  Be  not  obdurate ! 

Dem.  Come,  come,  promise  him. 

Micio.  Won’t  you  desist? 

-®SCH.  No,  not  till  I prevail. 

Micio.  This  is  mere  force. 


532 


THE  BROTHERS. 


[Act  V. 


Dem.  Nay,  nay,  comply,  good  Micio  ! 

Micio.  Though  this  appears  to  me  absurd,  wrong,  foolish, 
And  quite  repugnant  to  my  scheme  of  life. 

Yet,  if  you’re  so  much  bent  on’t,  let  it  be ! 

^SCH.  Obliging  father,  worthy  my  best  love ! 

Dem.  {aside).  What  now  ? — This  answers  to  my  wish. — W’hat 
more  ? 

— Hegio’s  their  kinsman  (<o  Micio),  our  relation  too, 

And  very  poor.  We  should  do  him  some  service. 

Micio.  Do  what  ? 

Dem.  There  is  a little  piece  of  ground. 

Which  you  let  out  near  town.  Let’s  give  it  him 
To  live  upon. 

Micio.  So  little,  do  you  call  it? 

Dem.  Well,  if  ’tis  large,  let’s  give  it.  He  has  been 
Father  to  her ; a good  man  ; our  relation. 

It  will  be  given  worthily.  In  short. 

That  saying,  Micio,  I now  make  my  own. 

Which  you  so  lately  and  so  wisely  quoted ; 

‘‘It  is  the  common  failing  of  old  men 
To  be  too  much  intent  on  worldly  matters.” 

Let  us  wipe  off  that  stain.  The  saying’s  true, 

And  should  be  practic’d. 

Micio.  Well,  well;  be  it  so, 

If  he  requires  it.  (Pointing  to  ^schinus.) 

^SCH.  I beseech  it,  father. 

Dem.  Now  you’re  indeed  my  brother,  soul  and  body. 
Micio.  I’m  glad  to  find  you  think  me  so. 

Dem.  I foil  him 
At  his  own  weapons.  {Aside.) 


Scene  VI. 

To  them  Sykus. 

Syrus.  I have  executed 
Your  orders,  Demea. 

Dem.  a good  fellow ! Truly 

Syrus,  I think,  should  be  made  free  to-day. 

Micio.  Made  free  ! He  ! Wherefore  ? 

Dem.  Oh,  for  many  reasons. 

Syrus.  Oh  Demea,  you’re  a noble  gentleman. 
I’ve  taken  care  of  both  your  sons  from  boys ; 
Taught  them,  instructed  them,  and  given  them 
The  wLolesomest  advice  that  I was  able. 

Dem.  The  thing’s  apparent ; and  these  offices, 
To  cater ; — bring  a wench  in,  safe  and  snug ; 

— Or  in  mid-day  prepare  an  entertainment 
All  these  are  talents  of  no  common  man. 

Syrus.  Oh  most  delightful  gentleman ! 


VL] 


THE  BROTHERS. 


533 


Dem.  Besides, 

He  has  been  instrumental  too  this  day 
In  purchasing  the  Music-Girl.  He  manag’d 
The  whole  affair.  We  should  reward  him  for  it. 

It  will  encourage  others. — In  a word, 

Your  -®schinus  would  have  it  so. 

Micio.  Do  you 
Desire  it  ? 

iEscii.  Yes,  Sir. 

Micio.  Well,  if  you  desire  it 

Come  hither,  Syrus ! — Be  thou  free  ! (Syrus  kneels ; Micio 
strikes  him^  being  the  ceremony  of  manumission,  or  giving  a 
slave  his  freedom.) 

Syrus.  I thank  you: 

Thanks  to  you  all ; but  most  of  all,  to  Demea ! 

Dem.  I’m  glad  of  your  good  fortune. 

-®SCH.  So  am  I. 

Syrus.  I do  believe  it ; and  I v.dsh  tliis  joy 
Were  quite  complete,  and  I might  see  my  wife, 
hly  Phrygia  too,  made  free,  as  well  as  I. 

Dem.  The  very  best  of  women! 

Syrus.  And  the  first 

That  suckled  my  young  master’s  son,  your  grandson. 

Dem.  Indeed  I the  first  who  suckled  him  ! — Nay  then, 
Beyond  all  doubt,  she  should  be  free. 

Micio.  For  what? 

Dem.  For  that.  Nay,  take  the  sum,  whate’er  it  be, 

Of  me. 

Syrus.  Now  all  the  powers  above  grant  all 
Your  wishes,  Demea! 

Micio.  You  have  thriv’d  to-day 
Most  rarely,  Syrus. 

Dem.  And  besides  this,  Micio, 

It  would  be  handsome  to  advance  him  something 
To  try  his  fortune  with.  He’ll  soon  return  it. 

Micio.  Not  that.  {Snapping  his  fingers.) 

-®SCH.  He’s  honest. 

Syrus.  Faith  I will  return  it. 

Do  but  advance  it. 

^SCH.  Do,  Sir! 

Micio.  Well,  I’ll  think  on’t. 

Dem.  I’ll  see  that  he  shall  do’t.  ( To  Syrus.) 

Syrus.  Thou  best  of  men! 

^SCH.  My  most  indulgent  fiither ! 

Micio.  What  means  this  ? 

Whence  comes  this  hasty  change  of  manners,  brother? 
Whence  flows  all  this  extravagance  ? and  whence 
This  sudden  prodigality? 

Dem.  ril  tell  you: 

To  show  you,  that  the  reason  why  our  sons 
Think  you  so  pleasant  and  agreeable, 


THE  IHlOTlIEPvS. 


[Act  V.,  Sc.  \T. 


Is  not  from  your  deserts,  or  truth,  or  justice, 

But  your  compliance,  bounty,  and  indulgence. 

— Now,  therefore,  if  I’m  odious  to  you,  son. 

Because  I’m  not  subservient  to  your  humor 
In  all  things,  right* or  wrong;  away  with  care! 

Spend,  squander,  and  do  what  you  will ! — but  if, 

In  those  affairs  where  youth  has  made  you  blind, 

Eager,  and  thoughtless,  you  will  suffer  me 
To  counsel  and  correct — and  in  due  season 
Indulge  you — I am  at  your  service. 
iEscii.  Father, 

In  all  things  we  submit  ourselves  to  you. 

What’s  fit  and  proper,  you  know  best. — But  what 
Shall  come  of  my  poor  brother? 

Dem.  I consent 

That  he  shall  have  her:  let  him  finish  there. 

jEsch.  All  now  is  as  it  should  he. — (7b  the  audience.)  Clap 
your  hands ! 


THE  STEP-MOTHER, 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Prologue. 

Laches. 

Phidippus. 

Pamphilus. 

Parmeno. 

SosiA. 

Boy,  and  other  Servants. 


SOSTRATA. 

Myrrhina. 

Bacchis. 

Philotis. 

Syra. 

Nurse,  Servants  to  Bacchis^ 


etc. 


Scene,  Athens. 


PROLOGUE. 


This  play  is  call’d  the  Step- Mother.  When  first 
It  was  presented,  such  a hurricane, 

A tumult  so  uncommon  interven’d, 

It  neither  could  be  seen  nor  understood: 

So  taken  were  the  people,  so  engag’d 
By  a rope-dancer! — It  is  now  brought  on 
As  a new  piece : and  he  who  wrote  the  play 
Suffer’d  it  not  to  be  repeated  then, 

That  he  might  profit  by  a second  sale. 

Others,  his  plays,  you  have  already  known ; 

Now  then,  let  me  beseech  you,  know  this  too. 


ANOTHER  PROLOGUE. 


I come  a pleader,  in  the  shape  of  prologue  : 

Let  me  then  gain  my  cause,  and  now  grown  old. 
Experience  the  same  favor  as  when  young ; 

Who  then  recover’d  many  a lost  play. 

Breath’d  a new  life  into  the  scenes,  and  sav’d 
The  author  and  Ins  writings  from  oblivion. 

Of  those  which  first  I studied  of  Crecilius, 

In  some  I was  excluded ; and  in  some 

Hardly  maintain’d  my  ground.  But  knowing  well 

The  variable  fortunes  of  the  scene, 

I was  content  to  hazard  certain  toil 


THK  STEP-MOTHER. 


For  an  uncertain  gain.  I undertook 
To  rescue  those  same  plays  from  condemuation, 

And  labor’d  to  reverse  your  sentence  on  them; 

That  the  same  Poet  might  afford  me  more, 

And  no  ill  fortune  damp  young  Genius  in  him. 

My  cares  prevail’d;  the  plays  were  heard;  and  thus 
Did  I restore  an  Author,  nearly  lost 
Through  the  malevolence  of  adversaries. 

To  study,  labor,  and  the  Poet’s  art* 

But  had  I at  that  time  despis’d  his  plays. 

Or  labor’d  to  deter  him  from  the  task, 

It  had  been  easy  to  have  kept  him  idle, 

And  to  have  scar’d  him  from  attempting  more: 

For  my  sake,  therefore,  deign  to  hear  with  candor 
The  suit  I mean  to  offer  to  you  now. 

Once  more  I bring  the  Step-Mother  before  you, 
Which  yet  in  silence  I might  never  play ; 

So  did  confusion  crush  it:  which  confusion 
Your  prudence  may  allay,  if  it  will  deign 
To  second  our  endeavors. — When  I first 
Began  to  play  this  piece,  the  sturdy  Boxers, 

(The  dancers  on  the  rope  expected  too.) 

Th’  increasing  crowds,  the  noise  and  women’s  clamor, 
Oblig’d  me  to  retire  before  my  time. 

I,  upon  this  occuaion,  had  recourse 
To  my  old  way.  I brought  it  on  again. 

In  the  first  act  I ] lease : meanwhile  there  spreads 
A rumor  of  the  Gladiators : then 
The  people  flock  together,  riot,  roar. 

And  fight  for  places.  I meanwhile  my  place 
Could  not  maintain — To-day  there’s  no  disturbance ; 
All’s  silence  and  attention ; a clear  stage : 

’Tis  yours  to  give  these  games  their  proper  grace. 

Let  not,  oh  let  not  the  Dramatic  Art 
Fall  to  a few ! let  your  authority 
Assist  and  second  mine ! if  I for  gain 
Ne’er  overrated  my  abilities. 

If  I have  made  it  still  my  only  care 
To  be  obedient  to  your  will,  oh  grant 
That  he  who  hath  committed  his  performance 
To  my  defense,  and  who  hath  thrown  himself 
On  your  protection,  be  not  giv’n  to  scorn, 

And  foul  derision  of  his  envious  foes ! 

Admit  this  plea  for  my  sake,  and  be  silent ; 

That  other  Poets  may  not  fear  to  write. 

That  I too  may  hereafter  find  it  meet 
To  play  new  pieces  bought  at  my  expense. 


Act.  L,  Sc.  II.] 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


537 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 

Scene  I. 

Philotis,  Syra. 

Phi.  Now,  by  my  troth,  a woman  of  the  town 
Scarce  ever  finds  a faithful  lover,  Syra. 

This  very  Pamphilus,  how  many  times 
He  swore  to  Bacchis,  swore  so  solemnly 
One  could  not  but  believe  him,  that  he  never 
Would,  in  her  lifetime,  marry.  See ! he’s  married. 

Syra.  I warn  you,  therefore,  and  most  earnestly 
Conjure  you,  to  have  pity  upon  none. 

But  plunder,  fleece,  and  beggar  ev’ry  man 
That  falls  into  your  pow’r. 

Phi.  What ! spare  none  ? 

SyrA'.  None. 

For  know,  there  is  not  one  of  all  your  sparks 
But  studies  to  cajole  you  with  fine  speeches, 

And  have  his  will  as  cheaply  as  he  can. 

Should  not  you,  then,  endeavor  to  fool  them  ? 

Phi.  But  to  treat  all  alike  is  wrong. 

Syra.  What!  wrong? 

To  be  reveng’d  upon  your  enemies  ? 

Or  to  snare  those  who  spread  their  snares  for  you  ? 

— Alas ! why  have  not  I your  youth  and  beauty, 

Or  you  my  sentiments  ? 

Scene  II. 

Enter  Parmeno. 

Par.  {to  ScRiTus  within').  If  our  old  gentleman 
Asks  for  me,  tell  him  I’m  this  very  moment 
Gone  to  the  Port  to  seek  for  Pamphilus. 

D’ye  understand  my  meaning,  Scritus  ? If  he  asks. 
Tell  hirn  that ; if  he  should  not  ask,  say  nothing ; 
That  this  excuse  may  serve  another  time. 

. {Comes  forward.) 

not  that  Philotis?  Whence  comes  she? 
Philotis,  save  you ! 

Phi.  Save  you,  Parmeno! 

Syra.  Save  you,  good  Parmeno ! 

Par.  And  save  you,  Syra! 

Tell  me,  Philotis,  where  have  you  been  gadding? 
Taking  your  pleasure  this  long  time  ? 

Phi.  I’ve  taken 

No  pleasure,  Parmeno,  indeed.  I went 

Z2 


8 


THE  STEE-MOTHEli. 


[Act  I 


With  a most  brutal  Captain  hence  to  Corinth, 

There  have  I led  a wretched  life  with  him 
For  two  whole  years. 

Par.  Aye,  aye,  I warrant  you 
That  you  have  often  wish’d  to  be  in  Athens; 

Often  repented  of  your  journey. 

Pm.  Oh, 

’Tis  quite  impossible  to  tell  Iioav  much 
I long’d  to  be  at  home,  how  much  I long’d 
To  leave  the  Captain,  see  you,  revel  with  you, 

After  the  good  old  fashion,  free  and  easy. 

For  there  I durst  not  speak  a single  word. 

But  what,  and  when  the  mighty  Captain  pleas’d. 

Par.  ’Tvvas  cruel  in  him  thus  to  tie  your  tongue: 
At  least.  I’ll  warrant,  that  you  thought  it  so. 

Phi.  But  what’s  this  business,  Parmeno  ? this  story 
That  Bacchis  has  been  telling  me  within  ? 

I could  not  have  believ’d  that  Pamphiliis 
Would  in  her  lifetime  marry. 

Par.  Marry  truly ! 

Phi.  Why  he  is  married:  is  not  he? 

Par.  He  is. 

But  I’m  afraid  ’twill  prove  a crazy  match. 

And  will  not  hold  together  long. 

Phi.  Heav’n  grant  it. 

So  it  turn  out  to  Bacchis’s  advantage ! 

But  how  can  I believe  this,  Parmeno  ? 

Tell  me. 

Par.  It  is  not  fit  it  should  be  told. 

Inquire  no  more. 

Phi.  For  fear  I should  divulge  it  ? 

Now  Heav’n  so  prosper  me,  as  I inquire. 

Not  for  the  sake  of  telling  it  again, 

But  to  rejoice  within  myself. 

Par.  All  these 

Fair,  w'ords,  Philotis,  sha’n’t  prevail  on  me 
To  trust  my  back  to  your  discretion. 

Phi.  Well; 

Don’t  tell  me,  Parmeno. — As  if  you  had  not 
Much  rather  tell  this  secret  than  I hear  it. 

Par.  She’s  in  the  right:  I am  a blab,  ’tis  true, 

It  is  my  greatest  failing. — Give  your  word 
You’ll  not  reveal  it,  and  I’ll  tell  you. 

Phi.  Now 

You’re  like  yourself  again.  I give  my  word. 

Speak. 

Par.  Listen  then. 

Phi.  I’m  all  ear. 

Par.  Pamphilus 

Doted  on  Bacchis  still  as  much  as  ever, 

When  the  old  gentleman  began  to  tease  him 


Sc.  II.J 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


539 


To  marry,  in  the  common  cant  of  fathers ; 

— “That  he  was  now  grown  old;  and  Pamphilus 
His  only  child;  and  that  he  long’d  for  heirs, 

As  props  of  his  old  age.”  At  first  my  master 
Withstood  his  instances,  but  as  his  father 
Became  more  hot  and  urgent,  Pamphilus 
Began  to  waver  in  his  mind,  and  felt 
A conflict  betwixt  love  and  duty  in  him. 

At  length,  by  hammering  on  marriage  still, 

And  daily  instances,  th’  old  man  prevail’d. 

And  made  a match  with  our  next  neighbor’s  daughter. 
Pamphilus  did  not  take  it  much  to  heart. 

Till  just  upon  the  very  brink  of  wedlock : 

But  when  he  saw  the  nuptial  rites  prepar’d. 

And,  without  respite,  he  must  many ; then 
It  came  so  home  to  him,  that  even  Bacchis, 

Had  she  been  present,  must  have  pitied  him. 

Whenever  he  could  steal  from  company. 

And  talk  to  me  alone, — “ Oh  Parnieno, 

What  have  I done?”  he’d  cry. — “I’m  lost  forever. 

Into  what  ruin  have  I plung’d  myself! 

I can  not  bear  it,  Parmeno.  Ah  wretch ! 

I am  undone.” 

Phi.  Now  all  the  powers  of  heav’n 
Confound  you.  Laches,  for  thus  teasing  him? 

Par.  In  short,  he  marries,  and  brings  home  his  wife. 
The  first  night  he  ne’er  touch’d  her!  nor  the  next. 

Phi.  How  ! he  a youth,  and  she  a maidenhead ! 
Tipsy,  and  never  touch  her ! ’Tis  not  likely  ; 

Nor  do  I think  it  can  be  true. 

Par.  No  wonder. 

For  they  that  come  to  you  come  all  desire ; 

But  he  was  bound  to  her  against  his  will. 

Phi.  What  followed  upon  this? 

Par.  a few  days  after, 

Pamphilus,  taking  me  aside,  informs  me, 

“That  the  maid  still  remain’d  a maid  for  him; 

That  he  had  hop’d,  before  he  brought  her  home, 

He  might  have  borne  the  marriage but  resolving 
Within  myself  not  to  retain  her  long, 

I held  it  neither  honesty  in  me. 

Nor  of  advantage  to  the  maid  herself. 

That  I should  throw  her  off  to  scorn: — but  rather 
Return  her  to  her  friends,  as  I receiv’d  her, 

Chaste  and  inviolate.” 

Phi.  a worthy  youth, 

And  of  great  modesty! 

Par.  “To  make  this  public 
Would  not,  I think,  do  well:  and  to  return  her 
Upon  her  father’s  hands,  no  crime  alleg’d, 

As  arrogant:  but  slie,  I hope,  as  soon 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


[Act  I.,  Sc.  II. 


.040 


As  she  perceives  she  can  not  live  with  me, 

Will  of  her  own  accord  depart.” 

Phi.  But  tell  me  ; 

Went  he  meanwhile  to  Bacchis  ? 

Par.  Every  day. 

But  she,  as  is  the  way  you  know,  perceiving 
He  w'as  another’s  property,  became 
More  cross  and  mercenary. 

Phi.  Troth,  no  wonder. 

Par.  Aye,  but  ’twas  that  detach’d  him  chiefly  from  her. 
For  when  he  had  examined  well  himself, 

Bacchis,  and  her  at  home;  and  had  compar’d 
Their  different  manners ; seeing  that  his  bride. 

After  the  fashion  of  a lib’ral  mind, 

Was  decent,  modest,  patient  of  atfronts, 

And  anxious  to  conceal  the  wrongs  he  did  her ; 

Touch’d  partly  with  compassion  for  his  wife. 

And  partly  tir’d  with  Pother’s  insolence. 

He  by  degrees  withdrew  his  heart  from  Bacchis, 
Transferring  it  to  her,  whose  disposition 
Was  so  congenial  to  his  own.  Meanwhile 
An  old  relation  of  the  family 
Dies  in  the  isle  of  Imbrus.  Plis  estate 
Comes  by  the  law  to  them  ; and  our  old  man 
Dispatching  thither,  much  against  his  will. 

The  now-fond  Pamphilus,  he  leaves  his  wife 
Here  with  his  mother.  The  old  gentleman 
Retir’d  into  the  country,  and  but  seldom 
Comes  up  to  town. 

Phi.  But  what  is  there  in  this 
That  can  affect  the  marriage? 

Par.  You  shall  hear 

Immediately.  At  first,  for  some  few  days, 

The  woman  seem’d  to  live  on  friendly  terms  : 

Till  all  at  once  the  bride,  forsooth,  conceiv’d 
A wonderful  disgust  to  Sostrata: 

And  yet  there  was  no  open  breach  between  them, 

And  no  complaints  on  either  side. 

Phi.  What  then  ? 

Par.  If  Sostrata,  for  conversation’  sake. 

Went  to  the  bride,  she  instantly  withdrew. 

Shunning  her  company.  At  length,  not  able 
To  bear  it  any  longer,  she  pretends 
Her  mother  had  sent  for  her  to  assist 
At  some  home-sacrifice.  Away  she  went. 

After  a few  days’  absence,  Sostrata 

Sent  for  her  back.  They  made  some  lame  excuse, 

I know  not  what.  She  sends  again.  No  lady. 

Then  after  several  messages,  at  last 

They  say  the  gentlewoman’s  sick.  My  mistress 

Goes  on  a visit  to  her : not  let  in. 


Act  IL,  Sc.  L] 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


541 


Th’  old  gentleman,  inform’d  of  all  this,  came 
On  this  occasion  yesterday  to  town ; 

And  waited  on  the  I'ather  of  the  bride. 

What  pass’d  between  them,  I as  yet  can’t  tell ; 

And  yet  I long  to  know  the  end  of  this. 

— There’s  the  whole  business.  Now  I’ll  on  my  way. 

Phi.  And  I : for  there’s  a stranger  here,  with  whom 
I have  an  assignation. 

Par.  Speed  the  plow ! 

Phi.  Parmeno,  fare  you  well ! 

Par.  Farewell,  Philotis!  {Exeunt  severally. 


ACT  THE  SECOND.. 

Scene  I. 

Laches,  Sostrata. 

Lack.  Oh  heav’n  and  earth,  what  animals  are  women ! 
What  a conspiracy  between  them  all, 

To  do  or  not  do,  love  or  hate  alike ! 

Not  one  but  has  the  sex  so  strong  in  her, 

She  differs  nothing  from  the  rest.  Step-mothers 
All  hate  their  Step-daughters : and  every  wife 
Studies  alike  to  contradict  her  husband, 

The  same  perverseness  running  through  them  all. 

Each  seems  train’d  up  in  the  same  school  of  mischief : 
And  of  that  school,  if  any  such  there  be, 

My  wife,  I think,  is  schoolmistress. 

SosTRA.  Ah  me ! 

AWio  know  not  why  I am  accus’d. 

Lach.  Not  know? 

SosTRA.  No,  as  I hope  for  mercy!  as  I hope 
We  may  live  long  together ! 

Lach.  Heav’n  forbid ! 

SosTRA.  Hereafter,  Laches,  you’ll  be  sensible 
How  wrongfully  you  have  accus’d  me. 

Lach.  I? 

Accuse  you  wrongfully  ? Is’t  possible 

To  speak  too  hardly  of  your  late  behavior  ? 

Disgracing  me,  yourself,  and  family; 

Laying  up  sorrow  for  your  absent  son  ; 

Converting  into  foes  his  new-made  friends, 

Who  thought  him  worthy  of  their  child  in  marriage. 
You’ve  been  our  bane,  and  by  your  shrewishness 
Brew’d  this  disturbance. 

SoSTRA.  I? 

Lach.  You,  woman,  you  I 
Who  take  me  for  a stone,  and  not  a man. 

Think  ye,  because  Pm  mostly  in  the  country, 


542 


THE  STKP-MOTHEK. 


[Act  II. 


I’m  ignorant  of  your  proceedings  here? 

No,  no ; I know  much  better  what’s  done  here, 

Than  where  I’m  chiefly  resident.  Because 
Upon  my  family  at  home  depends 
My  character  abroad.  1 knew  long  since 

Philumena’s  disgust  to  you  ; no  wonder ! 

Nay,  ’twere  a wonder,  had  it  not  been  so. 

Yet  I imagin’d  not  her  hate  so  strong, 

’Twould  vent  itself  upon  the  family : 

Which  had  I dream’d  of,  she  should  have  remain’d, 

And  you  pack’d  off. — Consider,  Sostrata, 

How  little  cause  you  had  to  vex  me  thus. 

In  complaisance  to  you,  and  husbanding 
My  fortune,  I retir’d  into  the  country: 

Scraping,  and  laboring  beyond  the  bounds 

Of  reason,  or  my  age,  that  my  estate 

Might  furnish  means  for  your  expense  and  pleasure. 

— Was  it  not  then  your  duty,  in  return. 

To  see  that  nothing  happen’d  here  to  vex  me  ? 

SoSTRA.  ’Twas  not  my  doing,  nor  my  fault  indeed. 

Lach.  ’Twas  your  fault,  Sostrata  ; your  fault  alone. 

You  was  sole  mistress  here ; and  in  your  care 
The  house,  though  I had  freed  you  of  all  other  cares. 

A woman,  an  old  woman  too,  and  quarrel 
With  a green  girl ! oh  shame  upon’t ! — You’ll  say 
That  ’twas  her  fault. 

SosTRA.  Not  I indeed,  my  Laches. 

Lach.  ’Fore  Heav’n,  I’m  glad  on’t ! on  my  son’s  account. 
For  as  for  you,  I’m  well  enough  assur’d, 

No  fault  can  make  you  worse. 

SosTRA.  But  prithee,  husband. 

How  can  you  tell  that  her  aversion  to  me 
Is  not  a mere  pretense,  that  she  may  stay 
The  longer  with  her  mother  ? 

Lach.  No  such  thing. 

Was  not  your  visit  yesterday  a proof. 

From  their  denial  to  admit  you  to  her? 

SosTRA.  They  said  she  was  so  sick  she  could  not  see  me. 
Lach.  Sick  of  your  humors ; nothing  else,  I fancy. 

And  well  she  might:  for  there’s  not  one  of  you 
But  want  your  sons  to  take  a wife : and  that’s 
No  sooner  over,  but  the  very  woman 
Which,  by  your  instigation,  they  have  married, 

They,  by  your  instigation,  put  away. 

Scene  H. 

Enter  Phidippus. 

Phid.  (to  Philumena  within).  Although,  Philumena,  I know 
my  pow’r 


Sc.  II.] 


THE  STEP-MOTHEK. 


543 


To  force  you  to  comply  with  my  commands ; 

Yet  yielding  to  paternal  tenderness, 

I e’en  give  way,  nor  cross  your  humor. 

Lack.  See, 

Phidippus  in  good  time ! I’ll  learn  from  him 
The  cause  of  this. — {Going  up  to  Mm.')  PWdippus,  though  I 
own 

Myself  indulgent  to  my  family, 

Yet  my  complacency  and  easiness 

Runs  not  to  that  extreme,  that  my  good-nature 

Corrupts  their  morals.  Would  you  act  like  me, 

’Twould  be  of  service  to  both  families. 

But  you,  I see,  are  wholly  in  their  power. 

Phid.  See  there ! 

Lacii.  I waited  on  you  yesterday 
About  your  daughter : but  I went  away 
No  wiser  than  I came.  It  is  not  right. 

If  you  would  have  the  alliance  last  between  us. 

To  smother  your  resentment.  If  we  seem 
In  fault,  declare  it ; that  we  may  refute. 

Or  make  amends  for  our  offense : and  you 
Shall  carve  the  satisfaction  out  yourself. 

But  if  her  sickness  only  is  the  cause 
Of  her  remaining  in  your  family. 

Trust  me,  Phidippus,  but  you  do  me  wrong, 

To  doubt  her  due  attendance  at  my  house. 

For,  by  the  pbw’rs  of  heav’n.  I’ll  not  allow 
That  you,  although  her  father,  wish  her  better 
Than  I.  I love  her  on  my  son’s  account ; 

To  whom.  I’m  well  convinc’d,  she  is  as  dear 

As  he  is  to  himself : and  I can  tell 

How  deeply  ’twill  affect  him,  if  he  knows  this. 

Wherefore  I wish  she  should  come  home  again. 

Before  my  son’s  return. 

Phid.  My  good  friend  Laches, 

I know  your  care,  and  your  benevolence ; 

Nor  doubt  that  all  is  as  you  say ; and  hope 
That  you’ll  believe  I wish  for  her  return. 

So  I could  but  effect  it. 

Each.  What  prevents  it? 

Tell  me,  Phidippus!  does  she  blame  her  husband? 

Phid.  Not  in  the  least.  For  when  I urg’d  it  home, 

And  threaten’d  to  oblige  her  to  return. 

She  vow’d  most  solemnly  she  could  not  bear 
Your  house,  so  long  as  Pamphilus  was  absent. 

— All  have  their  failings  : I am  of  so  soft 
A nature,  I can’t  thwart  my  family. 

Lack.  Ha,  Sostrata!  (To  Sostrata,  apart.) 

SosTRA.  Wretch  that  I am  ! Ah  me  ! (Aside.) 

Lach.  And  her  retuim’s  impossible?  (7b  Phidippus.) 
Phid.  At  present. 


544 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


[Act  III. 


— Would  you  aught  else  with  me  ? for  I have  business 
That  calls  me  to  the  Forum. 

Each.  I’ll  go  with  you.  {Exeunt, 

Scene  III. 

Manet  Sostrata. 

SoSTRA.  How  unjustly 

Do  husbands  stretch  their  censures  to  all  wives 
For  the  offenses  of  a few,  whose  vices 
Reflect  dishonor  on  the  rest ! — For,  Heaven 
So  help  me,  as  I’m  Avholly  innocent 
Of  what  my  husband  now  accuses  me ! 

But  ’tis  no  easy  task  to  clear  myself ; 

So  fix’d  and  rooted  is  the  notion  in  them, 

That  Step-Mothers  are  all  severe. — Not  I ; 

For  I have  ever  lov’d  Philumena 

As  my  own  daughter ; nor  can  I conceive 

What  accident  has  drawn  her  hatred  on  me. 

My  son’s  return,  I hope,  will  settle  all ; 

And,  ah,  I’ve  too  much  cause  to  wish  his  coming.  {Exit* 


ACT  THE  THIRD. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Pamphilus  and  Parmeno. 

Pam.  Never  did  man  experience  greater  ills, 

More  miseries  in  Jove  than  I. — Distraction ! 

Was  it  for  this  I held  my  life  so  dear? 

For  this  was  I so  anxious  to  return  ? 

Better,  much  better  were  it  to  have  liv’d 
In  any  place,  than  come  to  this  again ! 

To  feel  and  know  myself  a wretch  I — For  when 
Mischance  befalls  us,  all  the  interval 
Between  its  happening,  and  our  knowledge  of  it, 
May  be  esteem’d  clear  gain. 

Par.  But  as  it  is. 

You’ll  sooner  be  deliver’d  from  your  troubles : 

For  had  you  not  return’d,  the  breach  between  them 
Had  been  made  wider.  But  now,  Pamphilus, 

Both  will,  I doubt  not,  reverence  your  presence. 
You’ll  know  the  whole,  make  up  their  difference, 
And  reconcile  them  to  each  other. — These 
Are  all  mere  trifles,  which  you  think  so  grievous. 

Pam.  Ah,  why  will  you  attempt  to  comfort  me  ? 
Was  ever  such  a wretch  ? — Before  I married, 


\ 


Sc.  L] 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


545 


My  heart,  you  know,  was  wedded  to  another. 

— But  ril  not  dwell  upon  that  misery, 

Which  may  be  easily  conceiv’d : and  yet 
I had  not  courage  to  refuse  the  match 
My  father  forc’d  upon  me. — Scarcely  wean’d 
Erom  my  old  love,  my  lim’d  soul  scarcely  freed 
From  Bacchis,  and  devoted  to  my  wife, 

Than,  lo,  a new  calamity  arises. 

Threatening  to  tear  me  from  Philumena. 

For  either  I shall  find  my  mother  faulty, 

Or  else  my  wife : In  either  case  unhappy. 

For  duty,  Parmeno,  obliges  me 

To  bear  with  all  the  failings  of  a mother : 

And  then  I am  so  bounden  to  my  wife. 

Who,  calm  as  patience,  bore  the  wrongs  I did  her, 

Nor  ever  murmur’d  a complaint. — But  sure 
’Twas  somewhat  very  serious,  Parmeno, 

That  could  occasion  such  a lasting  quarrel. 

Par.  Rather  some  trifle,  if  you  knew  the  truth. 

The  greatest  quarrels  do  not  always  rise 
From  deepest  injuries.  We  often  see 
That  what  would  never  move  another’s  spleen 
Renders  the  choleric  your  worst  of  foes. 

Observe  how  lightly  children  squabble. — Why? 

Because  they’re  govern’d  by  a feeble  mind. 

Women,  like  children,  too,  are  impotent. 

And  weak  of  soul.  A single  word,  perhaps. 

Has  kindled  all  this  enmity  between  them. 

Pam.  Go,  Parmeno,  and  let  them  know  I’m  come. 

(^Noise  within,') 

Par.  Ha ! what’s  all  this  ? 

Pam.  Hush ! 

Par.  I perceive  a bustle. 

And  running  to  and  fro. — Come  this  way.  Sir ! 

— To  the  door  ! — nearer  still ! — There,  there,  d’ye  hear  ? 

{Noise  continues.) 

Pam.  Peace;  hush!  (^Shriek  within.)  Oh  Jupiter,  I heard 
a shriek ! 

Par.  You  talk  yourself,  and  bid  me  hold  my  tongue. 
Myrrhina  {within).  Hush,  my  dear  child,  for  Heaven’s  sake ! 
Pam.  It  seem’d 

The  voice  of  my  wife’s  mother.  I am  ruin’d ! 

Par.  How  so  ? 

Pam.  Undone  I 
Par.  And  why? 

Pam.  Ah,  Parmeno, 

They  hide  some  terrible  misfortune  from  me ! 

Par.  They  said  your  wflfe  Philumena  was  ill ; 

Whether  ’tis  that,  I can  not  tell. 

Pam.  Death,  Sirrah  ! 

Why  did  you  not  inform  me  that  before  ? 


54G 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


[Act  III. 


Par.  Becaitse  I could  not  tell  you  all  at  once. 

Pam.  What’s  her  disorder? 

Par.  I don’t  know. 

Pam.  But  tell  me, 

Has  she  had  no  physician  ? 

Par.  I don’t  know. 

Pam.  But  why  do  I delay  to  enter  straight, 

That  I may  learn  the  truth,  be  what  it  will  ? 

— Oh  my  Philumena,  in  what  condition 

Shall  I now  find  thee  ?■ — If  there’s  danger  of  thee, 

My  life’s  in  danger  too.  {Eodt, 

Scene  II. 

Parmeno  alone. 

It  were  not  good 

That  I should  follov/  him  into  the  house  : 

For  all  our  family  are  odious  to  them. 

That’s  plain  from  their  denying  Sostrata 
Admittance  yesterday. — And  if  by  chance 
Her  illness  should  increase  (which  Heav’n  forbid, 

For  my  poor  master’s  sake  !),  they’ll  cry  directly, 

“ Sostrata’s  servant  came  into  the  house 

Swear, — that  I brought  the  plague  along  with  me, 

Put  all  their  lives  in  danger,  and  increas’d 
Philumena’s  distemper.” — By  which  means 
My  mistress  will  be  blam’d,  and  I be  beaten. 

Scene  III. 

Entci'  Sostrata. 

SosTRA.  Alas,  I hear  a dreadful  noise  within. 

Philumena,  I fear,  grows  worse  and  worse : 

Which  ..^sculapius,  and  thou.  Health,  forbid ! 

But  now  I’ll  visit  her.  (Goes  toward  the  house.) 

Par.  Ho,  Sostrata ! 

SosTRA.  Who’s  there  ? 

Par.  You’ll  be  shut  out  a second  time. 

SosTRA.  Ha,  Parmeno,  are  you  there  ? — Wretched  woman  ! 
What  shall  I do? — Not  visit  my  son’s  wife. 

When  she  lies  sick  at  next  door ! 

Par.  Do  not  go ; 

No,  nor  send  any  body  else  ; for  they 

That  love  the  folks,  to  whom  themselves  are  odious, 

I think  are  guilty  of  a double  folly : 

Their  labor  proves  but  idle  to  themselves, 

And  troublesome  to  those  for  whom  ’tis  meant. 

Besides,  your  son,  the  moment  he  arriv’d, 

Went  in  to  visit  her. 


Sc.  V.] 


TllK  STEP-MOTHER. 


547 


SosTRA.  How,  Parmeno  ! 

Is  Pamphiliis  arriv’d  ? 

Par.  He  is. 

SosTRA.  Thank  Heav’n  I 
Oh,  how  my  comfort  is  reviv’d  by  that ! 

Par.  And  therefore  I ne’er  went  into  the  house. 

For  if  Philumena’s  complaints  abate. 

She’ll  tell  him,  face  to  face,  the  whole  aifair, 

And  what  has  pass’d  between  you  to  create 
This  difference. — But  here  he  comes — how  sad  ! 

Scene  IV. 

Enter  Pamphilcs. 

SosTRA.  My  dear  boy,  Pamphiliis! 

Pam.  My  mother,  save  you ! {Disordered. ) 

SosTRA.  I’m  glad  to  see  you  safe  return’d — How  does 
Your  wife ! 

Pam.  a little  better. 

Sostra.  Grant  it,  Heav’n ! 

— But  why  d’ye  weep,  and  why  are  you  so  sad? 

Pam.  Nothing,  good  mother. 

Sostra.  What  was  all  that  bustle  ? 

Tell  me,  did  pain  attack  her  suddenly? 

Pam.  It  did. 

Sostra.  And  what  is  her  complaint? 

Pam.  a fever. 

Sostra.  What!  a quotidian? 

Par.  So  they  say. But  in, 

Good  mother,  and  I’ll  follow. 

Sostra.  Be  it  so.  {Exit, 

Pam.  Do  you  run,  Parmeno,  to  meet  the  servants, 

And  give  your  help  in  bringing  home  the  baggage. 

Par.  As  if  they  did  not  know  the  road! 

Pam.  Away!  {Exit  Parmeno. 

Scene  Y. 

Pamphilus  alone. 

Which  way  shall  I begin  the  wretched  tale 
Of  my  misfortunes,  Avhich  have  fall’n  upon  me 
Thus  unexpectedly?  which  even  now 
These  very  eyes  have  seen,  these  ears  have  heard? 

And  which,  discover’d,  drove  me  out  o’doors. 

Cover’d  with  deep  confusion  ? — For  but  now 
As  I rush’d  in,  all  anxious  for  my  wife. 

And  thinking  to  have  found  her  visited, 

Alas!  with  a far  different  complaint; 

Soon  as  her  Avomen  saw  me,  at  first  sight 


518 


THE  STEP-IMOTHEE. 


[Act  hi. 


Struck  and  o’erjoy’d,  they  all  exclaim’d,  “He’s  come!” 
And  then  as  soon  each  countenance  was  chang’d, 

That  chance  had  brought  me  so  unseasonably. 
Meanwhile  one  of  them  ran  before,  to  speak 
Of  my  arrival.  I,  who  long’d  to  see  her, 

Directly  follow’d;  and  no  sooner  enter’d. 

Than  her  disorder  was,  alas ! too  plain : 

Eor  neither  had  they  leisure  to  disguise  it, 

Nor  could  she  silence  the  loud  cries  of  travail. 

Soon  as  I saw  it,  “Oh  shame,  shame!”  I cried. 

And  rush’d  away  in  tears  and  agony, 

O’erwhelm’d  with  horror  at  a stroke  so  grievous. 

The  mother  follows  me,  and  at  the  threshold 
Falls  on  her  knees  before  me  all  in  tears. 

This  touch’d  me  to  the  soul.  And  certainly 
’Tis  in  the  very  nature  of  our  minds, 

To  rise  and  fall  according  to  our  fortunes. 

Thus  she  address’d  me. — “Oh,  my  Pamphilus, 

The  cause  of  her  removal  from  your  house 
You’ve  now  discover’d.  To  my  virgin-daughter 
Some  unknown  villain  offer’d  violence ; 

And  she  fled  hither  to  conceal  her  labor 

From  you  and  from  your  family.” Alas! 

When  I but  call  her  earnest  prayers  to  mind, 

I can  not  choose  but  weep. — “ Whatever  chance,” 
Continued  she,  “whatever  accident. 

Brought  you  to-day  thus  suddenly  upon  us. 

By  that  we  both  conjure  you — if  in  justice 
And  equity  we  may — to  keep  in  silence, 

And  cover  her  distress. — Oh,  Pamphilus, 

If  e’er  you  witness’d  her  affection  for  you. 

By  that  affection  she  implores  you  now 
Not  to  refuse  us ! — for  recalling  her. 

Do  as  your  own  discretion  shall  direct. 

That  she’s  in  labor  now,  or  has  conceiv’d 

By  any  other  person,  is  a secret 

Known  but  to  you  alone.  For  I’ve  been  told, 

The  two  first  months  you  had  no  commerce  with  her, 
And  it  is  now  the  seventh  since  your  union. 

Your  sentiments  on  this  are  evident. 

But  now,  my  Pamphilus,  if  possible, 
ril  call  it  a miscarriage:  no  one  else 
But  will  believe,  as  probable,  ’tis  yours. 

The  child  shall  be  immediately  expos’d. 

No  inconvenience  will  arise  to  you; 

While  thus  you  shall  conceal  the  injury 
That  my  poor  girl  unworthily  sustain’d.” 

— I promis’d  her ; and  I will  keep  my  word. 

But  to  recall  her  would  be  poor  indeed : 

Nor  will  I do  it,  though  I love  her  still. 

And  former  commerce  binds  me  strongly  to  her. 


Sc.  VL] 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


549 


— I can’t  but  weep,  to  think  how  sad  and  lonely 
My  future  life  will  be. — Oh  fickle  fortune! 

How  transient  are  thy  smiles ! — But  I’ve  been  school’d 
To  patience  by  my  former  hapless  passion, 

Which  I subdued  by  reason : and  I’ll  try 
By  reason  to  subdue  this  too. — But  yonder 
Comes  Parmeno,  I see,  with  th’  other  slaves! 

He  must  by  no  means  now  be  present,  since 

To  him  alone  I formerly  reveal’d 

That  I abstain’d  from  her  when  first  we  married : 

And  if  he  hears  her  frequent  cries,  I fear 
That  he’ll  discover  her  to  be  in  labor. 

I must  dispatch  him  on  some  idle  errand. 

Until  Philumena’s  deliver’d. 

Scene  VI. 

Enter  at  a distance  Par3IENO,  Sosia,  and  other  slaves  with  baggage. 
Par.  (^0  Sosia).  Aye? 

And  had  you  such  a wretched  voyage,  say  yon? 

Sosia.  Oh  Parmeno,  words  can’t  express  how  wretched 
A sea-life  is. 

Par.  Indeed? 

Sosia.  Oh  happy  Parmeno! 

You  little  know  the  dangers  you’ve  escap’d, 

Who’ve  never  been  at  sea. — For  not  to  dwell 
On  other  hardships,  only  think  of  this ! 

I was  on  shipboard  thirty  days  or  more. 

In  constant  fear  of  sinking  all  the  while. 

The  winds  so  contrary,  such  stormy  weather ! 

Par.  Dreadful! 

Sosia.  I found  it  so,  I promise  you. 

In  short,  were  I assur’d  I must  return, 

’Fore  Heaven,  Parmeno,  I’d  run  away. 

Rather  than  go  on  board  a ship  again. 

Par.  You  have  been  apt  enough  to  think  of  that 
On  slighter  reasons,  Sosia,  before  now. 

— But  yonder’s  my  young  master  Pamphilus 
Standing  before  that  door. — Go  in ! I’ll  to  him. 

And  see  if  he  has  any  business  for  me. 

(^Exeunt  Sosia,  amd  the  rest  of  the  slaves  ivitli  the  baggage. 
Master,  are  you  here  still?  (Zb  Pamphilus.) 

Pam.  Oil  Parmeno! 

I waited  for  you. 

Par.  What’s  your  pleasure.  Sir? 

Pam.  Run  to  the  Citadel. 

Par.  Who? 

Pam.  You. 

Par.  The  Citadel ! 

For  what  ? 


550 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


[Act  hi. 


Pam.  Find  out  one  Callidemides, 

My  landlord  of  Mycone,  who  came  over 
In  the  same  ship  with  me. 

Par.  a plague  upon  it! 

Would  not  one  swear  that  he  had  made  a vow 
To  break  my  wind,  if  he  came  home  in  safety, 

With  running  on  his  errands? 

Pam.  Away,  Sirrah ! 

Par.  What  message?  must  I only  find  him  out? 

Pam.  Yes;  tell  him  that  it  is  not  in  my  power 
To  meet  him  there  to-day,  as  I appointed ; 

That  he  mayn’t  wait  for  me  in  vain. — Hence ; fly ! 

Par.  But  I don’t  know  him,  if  I see  him.  Sir. 

Pam.  {impatiently).  Well ; I’ll  describe  him,  so  you  can  not 
miss  him. 

— A large,  red,  frizzle-pated,  gross,  blear-eyed, 

I ’11-looking  fellow. 

Par.  Plague  on  him,  say  I ! 

— What  if  he  should  not  come.  Sir,  must  I wait 
Till  evening  for  him? 

Pam.  Wait. — Be  quick  ! 

Par.  Be  quick? 

I can’t  be  quick, — I’m  so  much  tir’d.  {Exit, 

Scene  VII.  • 

Pampiiilus  alone. 


He’s  gone. 

What  shall  I do  ? Alas ! I scarcely  know 
How  to  conceal,  as  Myrrh ina  desir’d. 

Her  daughter’s  labor.  Yet  i Jpitjjrj^her; 

And  what  I can,  I am  resolv’d  to  do. 

Consistent  with  my  duty : for  my  parents 
Must  be  obey’d  before  my  love. — But  see ! 

My  father  and  Phidippus  come  this  way. 

How  I shall  act,  Heav’n  knows. 

Scene  YIII. 

Enter  at  a distance  Laches  and  Phidippus. 

Lach.  Did  not  you  say 
She  only  waited  my  son’s  coming? 

Phid.  Aye. 

Each.  They  say  that  he’s  arriv’d.  Let  us  return  then! 
Pam.  {behind).  What  reason  I shall  frame  to  give  my  father, 
For  not  recalling  her,  I can  not  tell. 

Lach.  {overhearing).  Whose  voice  was  that  ? 

Pam.  {to  himself).  And  yet  I am  resolv’d 
To  stand  to  my  first  pui*pose. 


Sc.  VIII.J 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


551 


Each,  (seeinf;  Pamphilus).  He  himself, 

Whom  I was  speaking  of! 

Pam.  (goinff  up).  My  father,  save  you ! 

Each.  Save  you,  my  son  ! 

Phid.  Pamphilus,  welcome  home! 

I in  glad  to  see  you  safe,  and  in  good  health. 

Pam.  I do  believe  it. 

Each.  Are  you  just  now  come? 

Pam.  Just  now.  Sir. 

Pamphilus, 

What  has  our  kinsman  Phania  left  us  ^ 

Pam.  Ah,  Sir, 

He  his  whole  lifetime,  was  a man  of  pleasure. 

And  such  men  seldom  much  enrich  their  heirs 

P™*se  behind  him. 

While  he  liv’d,  he  liv’d  well.” 

Each.  And  have  you  brought 
Nothing  home  with  you  but  this  single  sentence? 
iAM.  What  he  has  left,  though  small,  is  of  advantage. 
Hack.  Advantage  ? No,  it  is  a disadvantage; 
l^or  1 could  wish  he  was  alive  and  well. 

safely  ; for  your  wishing  for't 
Will  never  bring  the  man  to  life  again* 

Yet  I know  well  enough  which  you’d  like  best.  (Aside.) 

.Pbidippus  order’d  that  Philumena 
t^hould  be  sent  over  to  him  yesterday. 

—Say  that  you  order’d  it.  (Aside  to  Phidippus,  thrustinn  him.) 

Phid.  (aside  to  Eaciies).  Don’t  thrust  me  so. ^ 

I did.  (Aloud.) 

Each.  But  now  he’ll  send  lier  home  a^ain 
Phid.  I will.  ° 

Pam.  Nay,  nay,  I know  the  whole  affair. 

Since  my  arrival,  I have  heard  it  all. 

Lach.  Now  plague  upon  these  envious  tale-bearere. 

Who  are  so  glad  to  fetch  and  carry  news ' 

^'^“blimo^'“‘''"  ‘ ^ ‘a  deserve  no 

Prom  any  of  the  lamily,  I’m  conscious. 

Were  it  my  inclination  to  relate 

How  true  I’ve  been,  how  kind  and  gentle  tow’rd  her 

I well  might  do  it ; but  I rather  choose 

^u  should  collect  it  from  herself.  For  when 

She,  although  now  there’s  enmity  between  us 

Bespeaks  me  fair,  you  will  the  sooner  credit’ 

My  disposition  tow’rd  her.  And  I call 
The  Gods  to  witness  that  this  separation 
Has  not  arisen  from  my  fault.  But  since 
She  thinks  it  is  beneath  her  to  comply 
With  Sostrata,  and  bear  my  mother’s  temper* 

And  since  no  other  means  arc  to  be  found  ’ 

Of  reconciliation,  I,  Phidlppus, 


552 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


[Act  hi. 


Must  leave  iny  mother  or  Philumena. 

Duty  tlien  calls  me  to  regard  my  mother. 

Lacii.  My  Pamphilus,  I can  not  be  displeas’d 
That  you  prefer  to  all  the  'world  a parent. 

But  take  heed  your  resentment  don’t  transport  you 
Beyond  the  bounds  of  reason,  Pamphilus. 

Pam.  Ah,  what  resentment  can  I bear  to  her, 

Who  ne’er  did  any  thing  I’d  wish  undone. 

But  has  so  often  deserv’d  well  of  me  ? 

I love  her,  own  her  worth,  and  languish  for  her ; 

For  I have  known  her  tenderness  of  soul : 

And  Heaven  grant  that  'with  some  other  husband 
She  find  that  happiness  she  miss’d  in  me  ; 

From  whom  the  strong  hand  of  necessity 
Divorces  her  forever ! 

Phid.  That  event 
’Tis  in  your  pow’r  to  hinder. 

Lack.  If  you’re  wise. 

Take  your  wife  home  again! 

Pam.  I can  not,  father. 

I must  not  slack  my  duty  to  my  mother.  {Going.) 

Lacii,  Where  are  you  going?  {Exit  Pamphilus, 

Scene  IX. 

Manent  Laches  and  Piiidippus. 

Phid.  How  perverse  is  this!  (^Angrily.) 

Lack.  Did  not  I say  he’d  take  it  ill,  Phidippus, 

And  therefore  begg’d  you  to  send  back  your  daughter? 

Phid.  ’Fore  Heaven  I did  not  think  him  such  a churl. 
What ! does  he  fancy  I’ll  go  cringing  to  him  ? 

No  ; — if  he’ll  take  his  wife  he  may : — if  not. 

Let  him  refund  her  portion  ; — there’s  an  end ! 

Lach.  See  there  now!  you’re  as  fractious  as  himself. 
Phid.  You’re  come  back  obstinate  and  proud  enough 
In  conscience,  Pamphilus!  {Angrily.) 

Lach.  This  anger  will  subside. 

Though  he  has  had  some  cause  to  be  disturb’d. 

Phid.  Because  you’ve  had  a little  money  left  you. 

Your  minds  are  so  exalted ! 

Lach.  What,  d’ye  quarrel 
With  me  too? 

Phid.  Let  him  take  to-day  to  think  on’t. 

And  send  me  word  if  he  shall  have  her  home 
Or  not;  that  if  she  don’t  remain  his  wife, 

She  may  be  given  to  another.  {Exit  hastily. 


Act  IV.,  Sc.  II.] 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


553 


Scene  X. 

Laches  ahnc. 

Stay ! 

Hear  me ! one  word,  Phidippus  ! Stay ! — He’s  gone. 

— What  is’t  to  me?  {Angrily,)  E’en  let  them  settle  it 
Among  themselves ; since  nor  my  son,  nor  he 
Take  my  advice,  nor  mind  one  word  I say. 

— This  quarrel  shall  go  round,  I promise  them : 

I’ll  to  my  wife,  the  author  of  this  mischief, 

And  vent  my  spleen  and  anger  upon  her.  {Exit, 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 

Scene  I. 

Knier  Myrrhina  hastily, 

Myrr.  What  shall  I do  ? — Confusion ! — which  way  turn  ? 
Alas!  what  answer  shall  I make  my  husband? 

For  I dare  say  he  heard  the  infant’s  cries, 

He  ran  so  hastily,  without  a word, 

Into  my  daughter’s  chamber.  If  he  finds 
That  she  has  been  deliver’d,  what  excuse 
To  make,  for  having  thus  conceal’d  her  labor, 

I can’t  devise. — But  our  door  creaks! — ’tis  he. 

I am  undone. 

Scene  II. 

Enter  Phidippus. 

Phid.  Soon  as  my  wife  perceiv’d 
That  I was  going  to  my  daughter’s  chamber, 

She  stole  directly  out  o’doors. — But  there 
She  stands. — Why,  how  now,  Myrrhina? 

Holo,  I say!  {She  affects  not  to  see  him.) 

Myrr.  D’ye  call  me,  husband? 

Phid.  Husband! 

Am  I your  husband?  am  I ev’n  a man? 

For  had  you  thought  me  to  be  either,  woman, 

You  would  not  dare  to  play  upon  me  thus. 

Myrr.  How! 

Phid.  How?— My  daughter  has  been  brought  to  bed. 

— Ha ! are  you  dumb  ?— -By  whom  ? 

Mypr.  Is  that  a question 
Aa 


564 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


[Act  IV. 


For  you,  who  are  her  father,  to  demand? 

Alas!  by  whom  d’ye  think,  unless  her  husband? 

Phid.  So  I believe  : nor  is  it  for  a father 
To  suppose  otherwise.  But  yet  I wonder 
That  you  have  thus  conceal’d  her  labor  from  us. 
Especially  as  she  has  been  deliver’d 
At  her  full  time,  and  all  is  as  it  should  be. 

What!  Is  there  such  perverseness  in  your  nature, 

As  rather  to  desire  the  infant’s  death, 

Than  that  his  birth  should  knit  the  bond  of  friendship 
Closer  betwixt  us  ; rather  than  my  daughter. 

Against  your  liking,  should  remain  the  wife 

Of  Pamphilus  ? 1 thought  all  this 

Had  been  their  fault,  while  you’re  alone  to  blame, 
Myrr.  How  wretched  am  I ! 

Phid.  Would  to  Heav’n  you  were ! 

— But  now  I recollect  your  conversation 
When  first  we  made  this  match,  you  then  declar’d 
You’d  not  endure  she  should  remain  the  wife 
Of  Pamphilus,  who  follow’d  mistresses. 

And  pass’d  the  nights  abroad. 

Myrr.  I had  much  rather 

He  should  think  any  reason  than  the  true  one.  {Aside.') 

Phid.  I knew  he  kept  a mistress ; knew  it  long 
Ere  you  did,  Myrrhina ; but  I could  never 
Think  that  offense  so  grievous  in  a youth. 

Seeing  ’tis  natural  to  them  all : and  soon 

The  time  shall  come  when  he’ll  stand  self-reprov’d. 

But  you,  perverse  and  willful  as  at  first. 

Could  take  no  rest  till  you  had  brought  away 
Your  daughter,  and  annull’d  the  match  I made : 

There’s  not  a circumstance  but  loudly  speaks 
Your  evil  disposition  to  the  marriage. 

Myrr.  D’ye  think  me  then  so  obstinate,  that  I, 

Who  am  her  mother,  should  betray  this  spirit. 

Granting  the  match  were  of  advantage  to  us? 

Phid.  Is  it  for  you  then  to  foresee,  or  judge 
What’s  of  advantage  to  us?  You  perhaps 
Have  heard  from  some  officious  busy-body. 

That  they  have  seen  him  going  to  his  mistress, 

Or  coming  from  her  house : and  what  of  that. 

So  it  were  done  discreetly,  and  but  seldom? 

Were  it  not  better  that  we  should  dissemble 

Our  knowledge  of  it,  than  pry  into  things 

Which  to  appear  to  know  would  make  him  hate  us? 

For  could  he  tear  her  from  his  heart  at  once, 

To  whom  he’d  been  so  many  years  attach’d, 

I should  not  think  he  were  a man,  or  likely 
To  prove  a constant  husband  to  my  daughter.  • 

Myrr.  No  more  of  Pamphilus  or  my  offense; 

Since  you  will  have  it  so  !^ — Go,  find  him  out ; 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


555 


Confer  with  him  alone,  and  fairly  ask  him, 

Will  he,  or  no,  take  back  Philumena? 

If  he  avows  his  inclination  to’t, 

Restore  her;  but  if  he  refuses  it. 

Allow,  I’ve  ta’en  good  counsel  for  my  child. 

PiiiD.  Grant,  he  should  prove  repugnant  to  the  match, 
Grant,  you  perceiv’d  this  in  him,  Myrrhina ; 

Was  not  I present ! had  not  I a right 
To  he  consulted  in’t? — It  makes  me  mad. 

That  you  should  dare  to  act  wdthout  my  order: 

And  I forbid  you  to  remove  the  child 
Out  of  this  house. — But  what  a fool  am  I, 

Enjoining  her  obedience  to  my  orders! 

I’ll  in,  and  charge  the  servants  not  to  suffer 

The  infant  to  be  carried  forth.  {^Exit, 

Scene  III. 

Myrrhina  alone. 

No  woman  more  unhap]>y  than  myself : 

For  how  he’d  bear  it,  did  he  know  the  whole, 

When  he  has  taken  such  offense  at  this. 

Which  is  of  much  less  consequence,  is  plain. 

Nor  by  what  means  to  reconcile  him  to  it, 

Can  I devise.  After  so  many  ills, 

This  only  misery  there  yet  remain’d, 

To  be  oblig’d  to  educate  the  child. 

Ignorant  of  the  father’s  quality. 

For  he,  the  cruel  spoiler  of  her  honor, 

Taking  advantage  of  the  night  and  darkness. 

My  daughter  was  not  able  to  discern 

His  person  ; nor  to  force  a token  from  him. 

Whereby  he  might  be  afterward  discover’d: 

But  he,  at  his  departure,  pluck’d  by  force 

A ring  from  oft*  her  finger. 1 fear  too, 

That  Pamphilus  will  not  contain  himself, 

Nor  longer  keep  our  secret,  when  he  finds 

Another’s  child  acknowledg’d  for  his  own.  {Exit, 


Scene  IV. 

SosTRATA,  Pamphilus. 

SoSTRA.  Dear  son.  I’m  not  to  learn  that  you  suppose, 
Though  you  dissemble  your  suspicions  to  me. 

That  my  ill-humor  caus’d  your  wife’s  departure. 

But  by  my  trust  in  Heav’n,  and  hopes  in  you, 

I never  knowingly  did  any  thing 
To  draw  her  hatred  and  disgust  upon  me. 

I always  thought  you  lov’d  me,  and  to-day 


556 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


[Act  IV, 


You  have  confirm’d  my  faith : for  even  now 
Your  father  has  been  telling  me  within, 

How  much  you  held  me  dearer  than  your  love. 

Now  therefore,  on  my  part,  I am  resolv’d 
To  equal  you  in  all  good  offices ; 

That  you  may  know  your  mother  ne’er  withholds 
The  just  rewards  of  filial  piety; 

Finding  it  then  both  meet  for  your  repose. 

My  Pamphilus,  as  well  as  my  good  name, 

I have  determin’d  to  retire  directly 

From  hence  into  the  country  with  your  father; 

So  shall  my  presence  be  no  obstacle. 

Nor  any  cause  remain,  but  that  your  wife 
Return  immediately. 

Pam.  What  thoughts  are  these  ? 

Shall  her  perverseness  drive  you  out  of  town  ? 

It  shall  not  be : Nor  will  I draw,  good  mother. 

That  censure  on  me,  that  my  obstinacy. 

Not  your  good-nature,  was  the  cause. — Besides, 
That  you  should  quit  relations,  friends,  diversions, 
On  my  account,  I can’t  allow. 

SosTRA.  Alas! 

Those  things  have  no  allurements  for  me  now. 
While  I was  young,  and  ’twas  the  season  for  them, 
I had  my  share,  and  I am  satisfied. 

’Tis  now  my  chief  concern  to  make  my  age 
Easy  to  all,  that  no  one  may  regret 
My  lengthen’d  life,.jior  languish  for  my  death. 

Here,  although  undeservedly,  I see 
My  presence  odious : I had  best  retire : 

So  shall  I best  cut  off  all  discontent. 

Absolve  myself  from  this  unjust  suspicion. 

And  humor  them.  Permit  me  then  to  shun 
The  common  scandal  thrown  upon  the  sex. 

Pam.  How  fortunate  in  every  thing  but  one. 
Having  so  good  a mother, — such  a wife ! 

SosTRA.  Patience,  my  Pamphilus!  Is’t  possible 
You  can’t  endure  one  inconvenience  in  her? 

If  in  all  else,  as  I believe,  you  like  her. 

Dear  son,  be  rul’d  by  me,  and  take  her  home ! 
Pam.  Wretch  that  I am! 

SosTRA.  And  I am  wretched  too: 

For  this  grieves  me,  my  son,  no  less  than  you. 

Scene  V. 

Enter  Laches. 

^ Lach.  I have  been  standing  at  a distance,  wife, 

And  overheard  your  conversation  with  him. 

You  have  done  wisely  to  subdue  your  temper, 


Sc.  VI.] 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


557 


And  freely  to  comply  with  what,  perhaps, 

Hereafter  must  be  done. 

SosTRA.  And  let  it  be! 

Lacii.  Now  then  retire  with  me  into  the  country : 

There  I shall  bear  with  you,  and  you  with  me. 

SoSTRA.  I hope  we  shall. 

Lack.  Go  in  then,  and  pack  up 
The  necessaries  you  would  carry  with  you. 

Away! 

SoSTRA.  I shall  obey  your  orders.  (Exiu 

Pam.  Father ! 

Each.  Well,  Pamphilus? 

Pam.  My  mother  leave  the  town  ? 

By  no  means. 

Each.  Why? 

Pam.  Because  I’m  yet  uncertain 
What  I shall  do  about  my  wife. 

Each.  How’s  that? 

What  would  you  do  but  take  her  home  again? 

Pam.  ’Tis  what  I wish  for,  and  can  scarce  forbear  it. 

But  I’ll  not  alter  what  I first  design’d. 

What’s  best  I’ll  follow ; and  I’m  well  convinc’d 
That  there’s  no  other  way  to  make  them  friends, 

But  that  I should  not  take  her  home  again. 

Each.  You  don’t  know  that : but  ’tis  of  no  importance 
Whether  they’re  friends  or  not,  when  Sostrata 
Is  gone  into  the  country.  We  old  folks 
Are  odious  to  the  young.  We’d  best  retire. 

In  short,  we’re  grown  a by-word,  ^Pamphilus, 

“ The  old  man  and  old  woman.” — But  I see 
Phidippus  coming  in  good  time.  Eet’s  meet  him! 

Scene  VI. 

Enter  Phidippus. 

Phid.  (to  Philumena  within').  I’m  angry  with  you — ’fore 
Heaven,  very  angry, 

Philumena! — You’ve  acted  shamefully. 

Though  you  indeed  have  some  excuse  for’t,  seeing 
Your  mother  urg’d  you  to’t;  but  she  has  none. 

Each.  You’re  come  upon  us  in  good  time,  Phidippus ; 
Just  in  the  time  we  wanted  you. 

Phid.  What  now? 

Pam.  What  answer  shall  I give  them ! how  explain  ? 

(^Aside.) 

Each.  Inform  your  daughter,  Sostrata  will  hence 
Into  the  country ; so  Philumena 
Need  not  dread  coming  home  again. 

Phid.  Ah,  friend ! 

Your  wife  has  never  been  in  fault  at  all : 


558 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


[Act  IV. 


All  this  has  sprung  from  my  wife  Myrrhina. 

The  case  is  alter’d.  She  confounds  us,  Laches. 

Pam.  So  that  I may  not  take  her  home  again, 

Confound  affairs  who  will  I ' (^Aside.') 

Phid.  I,  Pamphilus, 

Would  fain,  if  possible,  make  this  alliance 
Perpetual  between  our  families. 

But  if  you  can  not  like  it,  take  the  child. 

Pam.  He  knows  of  her  delivery.  Confusion ! {Aside,') 
Each.  The  child!  what  child? 

Phid.  We’ve  got  a grandson.  Laches. 

For  when  my  daughter  left  your  house,  she  was 
With  child,  it  seems,  although  I never  knew  it 
Before  this  very  day. 

Lach.  ’Fore  Heav’n,  good  news ! 

And  I rejoice  to  hear  a child  is  born. 

And  that  your  daughter  had  a safe  delivery. 

But  what  a woman  is  your  wife,  Phidippus? 

Of  what  a disposition?  to  conceal 
Such  an  event  as  this  ? I can’t  express 
How  much  I think  she  was  to  blame. 

PiiiD.  This  pleases  me  no  more  than  you,  good  Laches. 
Pam.  Although  my  mind  was  in  suspense  before, 

My  doubts  all  vanish  now.  I’ll  ne’er  recall  her. 

Since  she  brings  home  with  her  another’s  child.  {Aside.) 
Lack.  There  is  no  room  for  choice  now,  Pamphilus. 
Pam.  Confusion!  {Aside.) 

Lach.  We’ve  oft  wish’d  to  see  the  day 
When  you  should  have  a child  to  call  you  father. 

That  day’s  now  come.  The  Gods  be  thank’d! 

Pam.  Undone ! {Aside.) 

Lach.  Recall  your  wife,  and  don’t  oppose  my  will. 

Pam.  If  she  had  wish’d  for  children  by  me,  father, 

Or  to  remain  my  wife,  I’m  very  sure 

She  never  would  have  hid  this  matter  from  me : 

But  now  I see  her  heart  divorc’d  from  me. 

And  think  we  never  can  agree  hereafter. 

Wherefore  should  I recall  her? 

Lach.  A young  woman 
Did  as  her  mother  had  persuaded  her. 

Is  that  so  wonderful?  and  do  you  think 
To  find  a woman  without  any  fault? 

— Or  is’t  because  the  men  are  ne’er  to  blame?  {Ironically.) 

Phid.  Consider  with  yourselves  then,  gentlemen. 

Whether  you’ll  part  with  her,  or  call  her  home. 

What  my  wife  does,  I can  not  help,  you  know. 

Settle  it  as  you  please,  you’ve  my  consent. 

But  for  the  child,  what  shall  be  done  with  him? 

Lach.  A pretty  question  truly!  come  what  may, 

Send  his  own  bantling  home  to  him  of  course, 

That  we  may  educate  him. 


Sc.  VI.] 


THE  STEP-MOTHEK. 


559 


Pam.  When  liis  own 
Father  abandons  him,  I educate  him? 

Lacii.  What  said  you?  how!  not  educate  him,  say  you? 
Shall  we  expose  him  rather,  Pamphilus? 

What  madness  is  all  this? — My  breath  and  blood! 

I can  contain  no  longer.  You  oblige  me 
To  speak,  against  my  will,  before  Phidippus : 

Think  you  I’m  ignorant  whence  flow  those  tears? 

Or  why  you’re  thus  disorder’d  and  distress’d  ? 

First,  when  you  gave  as  a pretense,  you  could  not 
Recall  your  wife  from  reverence  to  your  mother, 

She  promis’d  to  retire  into  the  country. 

But  now,  since  that  excuse  is  taken  from  you, 

You’ve  made  her  private  lying-in  another. 

Y^ou  are  mistaken  if  you  think  me  blind 
To  your  intentions — That  you  might  at  last 
Bring  home  your  stray  affections  to  your  wife, 

How'  long  a time  to  wean  you  from  your  mistress 
Did  I allow?  your  wild  expense  upon  her 
How  patiently  I bore?  I press’d,  entreated. 

That  you  would  take  a wife.  ’Twas  time,  I said. 

At  my  repeated  instances,  you  married. 

And,  as  in  duty  bound  to  do,  complied: 

But  now  your  heart  is  gone  abroad  again 
After  j^our  mistress,  whom  to  gratify. 

You  throw  this  wanton  insult  on  your  wife. 

For  I can  plainly  see  you  are  relaps’d 
Into  your  former  life  again. 

Pam.  Me? 

Lack.  You. 

And  ’tis  base  in  you  to  invent  false  causes 
Of  quarrel  with  your  wife,  that  you  may  live 
In  quiet  with  your  mistress,  having  put 
This  witness  from  you.  This  your  wife  perceiv’d. 

For  was  there  any  other  living  reason 
Wherefore  she  should  depart  from  you? 

Phid.  He’s  right. 

That  was  the  very  thing. 

Pam.  I’ll  take  my  oath 
’Twas  none  of  those  that  you  have  mention’d. 

Lack.  Ah ! 

Becall  your  wife:  or  tell  me  why  you  will  not. 

Pam.  ’Tis  not  .convenient  now. 

Lach.  Take  home  the  child  then; 

For  he  at  least  is  not  in  fault.  I’ll  see 
About  the  mother  afterward. 

Pam.  (to  himself).  Ev’ry  way 
I am  a wretch,  nor  know  I what  to  do : 

My  father  has  me  in  the  toils,  and  I, 

By  struggling  to  get  loose,  am  more  entangled. 

I’ll  hence,  since  ])resent  I shall  profit  little. 


5G0 


THE  STEP-MOTIIEE. 


[Act  Iv. 


For  I believe  they’ll  hardly  educate 

The  child  against  my  will ; especially 

Seeing  my  step-mother  will  second  me.  (Exit, 

Scene  VII. 

Manent  Phidippus,  Laches. 

Lack.  Going?  how’s  that?  and  give  me  no  plain  answer! 
— ^D’ye  think  he’s  in  his  senses  ? — Well — send  home 
The  child  to  me,  Phidippus.  I’ll  take  care  on’t. 

Phid.  I will. — I can  not  wonder  that  my  wife 
Took  this  so  ill.  Women  are  passionate, 

And  can’t  away  with  such  affronts  as  these. 

This  was  their  quarrel:  nay  she  told  me  so. 

Though  before  him  I did  not  care  to  speak  on’t : 

Nor  did  I credit  it  at  first ; but  now 
’Tis  evident,  and  I can  plainly  sec 
He  has  no  stomach  to  a wife. 

Lack.  Phidippus, 

How  shall  I act?  What’s  your  advice? 

Phid.  How  act? 

I think  ’twere  best  to  seek  this  wench,  his  mistress. 

Let  us  expostulate  the  matter  with  her. 

Speak  to  her  roundly,  nay,  e’en  threaten  her. 

If  she  has  aught  to  do  with  him  hereafter. 

Lach.  I’ll  follow  your  advice. — Ho,  boy!  (Enter  a hoy)  run 
over 

To  Bacchis.  Tell  her  to  come  forth  to  me.  (Exit  hoy, 
— I must  beseech  you  also  to  continue 
Your  kind  assistance  to  me  in  this  business. 

Phid.  Ah,  Laches ! I have  told  you  all  along. 

And  I repeat  it  now,  that  ’tis  my  wish 
To  render  our  alliance  firm  and  lasting. 

If  possible,  as  I have  hopes  it  will  be. 

— But  would  you  have  me  present  at  your  conference 
With  Bacchis? 

Lack,  No  ; go,  seek  the  child  a nurse. 

(Exit  Phidippus. 

Scene  VIII. 

Enter  Bacchis  attended  hy  her  Women. 

Bacch.  (to  herself).  ’Tis  not  for  nothing  Laches  wants  to 
see  me; 

And,  or  I’m  much  deceiv’d,  I guess  the  cause. 

Lach.  (to  himself).  I must  take  care  my  anger  don’t  trans- 
port me 

Beyond  the  bounds  of  prudence,  which  may  hinder 
My  gaining  my  design  on  her,  and  urge  me 


Sc.  VIII.] 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


561 


To  do  what  I may  afterward  repent. 

I’ll  to  her. — {Going  up.')  Save  you,  Bacchis! 

Baccii.  Save  you,  Laches! 

Lach.  Bacchis,  I do  not  doubt  but  you’re  surpris’d 
That  I should  send  the  boy  to  call  you  forth. 

Baccii.  Aye,  and  I’m  fearful  too,  when  I reflect 
Both  who  and  what  I am : lest  my  vocation 
Should  prejudice  me  in  your  good  opinion. 

My  conduct  I can  fully  justify. 

Lach.  If  you  speak  truth,  you’re  in  no  danger,  woman. 
Eor  I’m  arriv’d  at  that  age  when  a trespass 
Would  not  be  easily  forgiven  in  me. 

Wherefore  I study  to  proceed  with  caution. 

And  to  do  nothing  rashly.  If  you  act. 

And  will  continue  to  act  honestly. 

It  were  ungenerous  to  do  you  wrong. 

And  seeing  you  deserve  it  not,  unjust. 

Bacch.  Truly,  this  conduct  asks  my  highest*  thanks ; 
For  he  who  does  the  wrong,  and  then  asks  pardon, 

Makes  but  a sorry  reparation  for  it. 

But  what’s  your  pleasure? 

Lach.  You  receive  the  visits 

Of  my  son  Pamphilus 

Bacch.  Ah! 

Lach.  Let  me  speak. 

Before  he  married  I endur’d  your  love. 

— Stay ! I’ve  not  finish’d  all  I have  to  say. — 

He  is  now  married.  You  then,  while  ’tis  time. 

Seek  out  another  and  more  constant  friend. 

For  he  will  not  be  fond  of  you  forever, 

Nor  you,  good  faith,  forever  in  your  bloom. 

Bacch.  Who  tells  you  that  I still  receive  the  visits 
Of  Pamphilus? 

Lack.  His  step-mother. 

Baccii.  I? 

Lach.  You. 

And  therefore  has  withdrawn  her  daughter:  therefore 
Meant  secretly  to  kill  the  new-born  child. 

Bacch.  Did  I know  any  thing,  to  gain  your  credit, 
More  sacred  than  an  oath.  I’d  use  it.  Laches, 

In  solemn  protestation  to  assure  you 
That  I have  had  no  commerce  with  your  son 
Since  he  was  married. 

Lach.  Good  girl!  but  dy’e  know 
What  I would  farther  have  you  do  ? 

Bacch.  Inform  me. 

Lach.  Go  to  the  women  here,  and  offer  them 
The  same  oath.  Satisfy  their  minds,  and  clear 
Yourself  from  all  reproach  in  this. 

Bacch.  I’ll  do’t. 

Although  I’m  sure  no  other  of  my  calling 
A a2 


562 


THE  8TEr-MOTlIEK. 


[Act  IV.,  Sc.  IX. 


Would  show  herself  before  a married  woman 
Upon  the  same  occasion. — But  it  hurts  me 
To  see  your  son  suspected  on  false  grounds  ; 

And  that,  to  those  who  owe  him  better  thoughts. 

His  conduct  should  seem  light.  For  he  deserves 
All  my  best  offices. 

Lach.  Your  conversation  has  much  wrought  upon  me, 
Gain’d  my  good-will,  and  alter’d  my  opinion. 

For  not  the  women  only  thought  thus  of  you. 

But  I believ’d  it  too.  Now  therefore,  since 
I’ve  found  you  better  than  my  expectation. 

Prove  still  the  same,  and  make  my  friendship  sure. 

If  otherwise — But  I’ll  contain  myself.  I’ll  not 
Say  any  thing  severe. — But  I advise  you. 

Bather  experience  what  a friend  I am. 

Than  what  an  enemy. 

Bacch.  I’ll  do  my  best. 

Scene  IX. 

Enter  Phidippus  and  a Nurse. 

Phid.  (to  the  Nurse).  Nay,  you  shall  want  for  nothing  at  my 
house ; 

I’ll  give  you  all  that’s  needful  in  abundance ; 

But  when  you’ve  eat  and  drank  your  fill  yourself, 

Take  care  to  satisfy  the  infant  too. 

Lack.  I see  the  father  of  Philumena 
Coming  this  way.  He  brings  the  child  a nurse. 

— Phidippus,  Bacchis  swears  most  solemnly — 

Phid.  Is  this  she? 
liACH.  Aye. 

Phid.  They  never  mind  the  Gods, 

Nor  do  I think  the  Gods  mind  them. 

Bacch.  Here  are 

My  waiting-women : take  them,  and  extort 
By  any  kind  of  torment  the  truth  from  them. 

— Our  present  business  is,  I take  it,  this : 

That  I should  win  the  wife  of  Pamphilus 
To  return  home  ; which  so  I but  effect, 

I sha’n’t  regret  the  same  of  having  done 
What  others  of  my  calling  would  avoid. 

Lach.  Phidippus,  we’ve  discover’d  that  in  fact 
We  both  suspected  our  wives  wrongfully. 

Let’s  now  try  her  : for  if  your  wife  perceives 
Her  own  suspicions  also  are  unjust. 

She’ll  drop  her  anger.  If  my  son’s  offended 
Because  his  wife  conceal’d  her  labor  from  him. 

That’s  but  a trifle ; he’ll  be  soon  appeas’d. 

— And  truly  I see  nothing  in  this  matter 
That  need  occasion  a divorce. 


Act  V.,  8c.  I.J 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


563 


PiiiD.  ’Fore  Heaven, 

I wish  that  all  may  end  well. 

Lac II.  Here  she  is : 

Examine  her ; she’ll  give  you  satisfaction. 

PiiiD.  What  needs  all  this  to  Me!  You  know  my  mind 
Already,  Laches : do  but  make  them  easy. 

Lack.  Bacchis,  be  sure  you  keep  your  promise  with  me. 
Bacch.  Shall  I go  in  then  for  that  purpose? 

Lach.  Aye. 

Go  in ; remove  their  doubts,  and  satisfy  them. 

Bacch.  I will ; although  I’m  very  sure  my  presence 
Will  be  unwelcome  to  them ; for  a wife. 

When  parted  from  her  husband,  to  a mistress 
Is  a sure  enemy. 

Lach.  They’ll  be  your  friends. 

When  once  they  know  the  reason  of  your  coming. 

Phid.  Aye,  aye,  they’ll  be  your  friends,  I promise  you, 
When  they  once  learn  your  errand;  for  you’ll  free 
Them  from  mistake,  yourself  from  all  suspicion. 

Bacch.  I’m  cover’d  with  confusion.  I’m  asham’d 
To  see  Philumena. — (Zb  her  women.')  You  two  in  after  me. 

(^Exeunt  Phidippus,  Bacchis,  etc. 

Laches  alone. 

What  is  there  that  could  please  me  more  than  this, 

That  Bacchis,  without  any  loss,  should  gain 
Favor  from  them,  and  do  me  service  too? 

For  if  she  really  has  withdrawn  herself 
From  Pamphilus,  it  will  increase,  she  knows. 

Her  reputation,  interest,  and  honor: 

Since  by  this  generous  act  she  will  at  once 

Oblige  my  son,  and  make  us  all  her  friends.  (ExiU 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 

Scene  I. 

Parmeno  alone. 

F faith  my  master  holds  my  labor  cheap, 

To  send  me  to  the  Citadel  for  nothing. 

Where  I have  waited  the  whole  day  in  vain 
For  his  Myconian,  Callidemides. 

There  was  I sitting,  gaping  like  a fool. 

And  running  up,  if  any  one  appear’d, 

— “Are  you.  Sir,  a Myconian?” “No,  not  1.” — 

— “But  your  name’s  Callidemides?” -“Not  it.” — 

“And  have  not  you  a guest  here  of  the  name 


564 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


[Act  V. 


Of  Pamphilus?” — All  answer’d,  No. 

In  short,  I don’t  believe  there’s  such  a man. 

At  last  I grew  asham’d,  and  so  sneak’d  off*. 

— But  is’t  not  Bacchis  that  I see  come  forth 
From  our  new  kinsman?  What  can  she  do  there? 

Scene  IL 
Enter  Bacciiis. 

Baccii.  Oh  Parmeno,  I’m  glad  I’ve  met  with  you. 
Run  quick  to  Pamphilus. 

' Par.  On  what  account  ? 

Bacch.  Tell  him  that  I desire  he’d  come. 

Par.  To  you? 

Bacch.  No;  to  Philumena. 

Par.  Why?  what’s  the  matter? 

Bacch.  Nothing  to  you;  so  ask  no  questions. 

Par.  Must  I 
Say  nothing  else? 

Bacch.  Yes ; tell  him  too. 

That  Myrrhina  acknowledges  the  ring. 

Which  formerly  he  gave  me,  as  her  daughter’s. 

Par.  I understand  you.  But  is  that  all? 

Bacch.  All. 

He’ll  come  the  moment  that  you  tell  him  that. 
What ! do  you  loiter  ? 

Par.  No,  i’  faith,  not  I. 

I have  not  had  it  in  my  pow’r,  I’ve  been 
So  bandied  to  and  fro,  sent  here  and  there. 
Trotting,  and  running  up  and  down  all  day. 

Scene  III. 

Bacchis  alont;. 

What  joy  have  I procur’d  to  Pamphilus 

By  coming  here  to-day!  what  blessings  brought  him 

And  from  how  many  sorrows  rescued  him ! 

His  son,  by  his  and  their  means  nearly  lost, 

I’ve  sav’d ; a wife  he  meant  to  put  away, 

I have  restor’d;  and  from  the  strong  suspicions 
Of  Laches  and  Phidippus  set  him  free. 

— Of  all  these  things  the  ring  has  been  the  cause. 
For  I remember,  near  ten  months  ago. 

That  he  came  running  home  to  me  one  evening, 
Breathless,  alone,  and  much  inflam’d  with  wine. 
Bringing  this  ring.  I was  alarm’d  at  it. 

“ Prithee,  my  dearest  Pamphilus,  said  I, 

Whence  comes  all  this  confusion?  -whence  this  ringj 
Tell  me,  my  love.” — He  put  me  off  at  first : 


(^ExiU 


Sc'.  IV.] 


THE  8TEP-M0THER. 


565 


Perceiving  this,  it  made  me  apprehend 
Something  of  serious  import,  and  I urg’d  him 
More  earnestly  to  tell  me. — He  confess’d 
That,  as  he  came  along,  ho  had  committed 
A rape  upon  a virgin — whom  he  knew  not — 

And  as  she  struggled,  forc’d  from  her  that  ring : 
Which  Myrrhina  now  seeing  on  my  finger. 
Immediately  acknowledg’d,  and  inquir’d 
How  I came  by  it.  I told  all  this  story: 

Whence  ’twas  discover’d  that  Philumena 
Was  she  who  had  been  ravish’d,  and  the  child 
Conceiv’d  from  that  encounter. — That  I’ve  been 
The  instrument  of  all  these  joys  I’m  glad. 

Though  other  courtesans  would  not  be  so ; 

Nor  is  it  for  our  profit  and  advantage 
That  lovers  should  be  happy  in  their  marriage. 

But  never  will  I,  for  my  calling’s  sake. 

Suffer  ingratitude  to  taint  my  mind. 

I found  him,  while  occasion  gave  him  leave. 

Kind,  pleasant,  and  good-humor’ d : and  this  marriage 
Happen’d  unluckily,  I must  confess. 

Yet  I did  nothing  to  estrange  his  love ; 

And  since  I have  receiv’d  much  kindness  from  him, 
’Tis  fit  I should  endure  this  one  affliction. 


Scene  IV. 

Enter  at  a distance  Pampiiilus  anc?.  Parmeno. 

Pam.  Be  sure  you  prove  this  to  me,  Parmeno ; 
Prithee,  be  sure  on’t.  Do  not  bubble  me 
With  false  and  short-liv’d  joy. 

Par.  ’Tis  even  so. 

Pam.  For  certain  ? 

Par.  Aye,  for  certain. 

Pam.  I’m  in  heaven. 

If  this  be  so. 

Par.  You’ll  find  it  very  true. 

Pam.  Hold,  I beseech  you. — I’m  afraid  I think 
One  thing,  while  you  relate  another. 

Par.  Well? 

Pam.  You  said,  I think,  ‘‘  that  Myrrhina  discover’d 
The  ring  on  Bacchis’  finger  was  her  own.” 

Par.  She  did. 

Pam.  “The  same  I gave  her  formerly. 

— And  Bacchis  bade  you  run  and  tell  me  this.” 

Is  it  not  so  ? ✓ 

Par.  I tell  you.  Sir,  it  is. 

Pam.  Who  is  more  fortunate,  more  bless’d  than  I? 
— What  shall  I give  you  for  this  news  ? what  ? what  ? 
I don’t  know. 


56G 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


[Act  V. 


Par.  But  I know. 

Pam.  What  ? 

Par.  Just  nothing. 

For  I see  nothing  of  advantage  to  yon, 

Or  in  the  message,  or  myself. 

Pam.  Shall  I 

Permit  you  to  go  unrewarded ; you. 

Who  have  restor’d  me  ev’n  from  death  to  life? 

Ah,  Parmeno,  d’ye  think  me  so  ungrateful  ? 

— But  yonder’s  Bacchis  standing  at  the  door. 

She  waits  for  me,  I fancy.  I’ll  go  to  her. 

Bacch.  (seeing  him).  Pamphilus,  save  you 
Pam.  Bacchis  ! my  dear  Bacchis  ! 

My  guardian  ! my  protectress  ! 

Bacch.  All  is  well : 

And  I’m  o’erjoy’d  at  it. 

Pam.  Your  actions  speak  it. 

You’re  still  the  charming  girl  I ever  found  you. 

Your  presence,  company,  and  conversation. 

Come  where  you  will,  bring  joy  and  pleasure  with  them. 

Bacch.  And  you,  in  faith,  are  still  the  same  as  ever. 

The  sweetest,  most  engaging  man  on  earth. 

Pam.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  that  speech  from  you,  dear  Bacchis? 
Bacch.  You  lov’d  your  wife  with  reason,  Pamphilus : 
Never  that  I remember,  did  I see  her 
Before  to-day;  and  she’s  a charming  woman. 

Pam.  Speak  truth. 

Bacch.  So  Heaven  help  me,  Pamphilus ! 

Pam.  Say,  Ifave  you  told  my  father  any  part 
Of  this  tale  ? 

Bacch.  Not  a word. 

Pam.  Nor  is  there  need. 

Let  all  be  hush ! I would  not  have  it  here. 

As  in  a comedy,  where  every  thing 
Is  known  to  every  body.  Here  those  persons 
Whom  it  concerns  already  know  it ; they. 

Who  ’twere  not  meet  should  know  it,  never  shall. 

Bacch.  I promise  you  it  may  with  ease  be  hid. 

Myrrhina  told  Phidippus  that  my  oath 
Convinc’d  her,  and  she  held  you  clear. 

Pam.  Good  ! good  ! 

All  will  be  well,  and  all,  I hope,  end  well. 

Par.  May  I know.  Sir,  what  good  I’ve  done  to-day? 

And  what’s  the  meaning  of  your  conversation  ? 

Pam.  No. 

Par.  I suspect,  however. — “ I restore  him 

From  death  to  life” which  way? 

Pam.  Oh,  Parmeno, 

You  can’t  conceive  the  good  you’ve  done  to-day; 

From  what  distress  you  have  deliver’d  me. 

Par.  Ah,  but  I know,  and  did  it  with  design. 


Sc.  IV.] 


THE  STEP-MOTHER. 


567 


Pam.  Oh,  I’m  convinced  of  that.  {Ironically.') 

Par.  Did  Parmeno 
Ever  let  slip  an  opportunity 
Of  doing  what  he  ought,  Sir  ? 

Pam.  Parmeno, 

In  after  me ! 

Par.  I follow. — By  my  troth. 

I’ve  done  more  good  to-day,  without  design^ 
Than  ever  with  design  in  all  my  life. — 

Clap  your  hands ! 


P H 0 K M I 0. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Prologue. 

Demipho. 

Chremes. 

Antipho. 

Phjedria. 

Cratinus. 

Crito. 


Phormio. 

Dorio. 

Geta. 

Davus,  and  other  Servants, 


NaUSI  STRATA. 
SOPHRONA. 


Hegio. 


Scene,  Athens. 


PROLOGUE. 


The  Old  Bard  finding  it  impossible 
To  draw  our  Poet  from  the  love  of  verse, 

And  bury  him  in  indolence,  attempts 
By  calumny  to  scare  him  from  the  stage ; 
Pretending  that  in  all  his  former  plays 
The  characters  are  low,  and  mean  the  style ; 
Because  he  ne’er  describ’d  a mad-brain’d  youth, 
Who  in  his  fits  of  frenzy  thought  he  saw 
A hind,  the  dogs  in  full  cry  after  her ; 

Her  too  imploring  and  beseeching  him 
To  give  her  aid. — But  did  he  understand 
That,  when  the  piece  was  first  produc’d,  it  ow’d 
More  to  the  actor  than  himself  its  safety. 

He  would  not  be  thus  bold  to  give  offense. 

— But  if  there’s  any  one  who  says,  or  thinks, 

‘‘  That  had  not  the  Old  Bard  assail’d  him  first, 
Our  Poet  could  not  have  devis’d  a Prologue, 

^ Having  no  matter  for  abuse — let  such 
Receive  for  answer,  “that  although  the  prize 
To  all  advent’rers  is  held  out  in  common. 

The  Veteran  Poet  meant  to  drive  our  Bard 
From  study  into  want : He  therefore  chose 
To  answer,  though  he  would  not  first  offend. 
And  had  his  adversary  but  have  prov’d 
A generous  rival,  he  had  had  due  praise  ; 

Let  him  then  bear  these  censures,  and  reflect 


Act  I.,  Sc.  IL] 


PHORMIO. 


569 


Of  his  own  slanders  ’tis  the  due  return. 

But  henceforth  I shall  cease  to  speak  of  him, 
Although  he  ceases  not  himself  to  rail.” 

But  now  what  I’d  request  of  you,  attend  : 
To-day  I bring  a new  play,  which  the  Greeks 
Call  Epidicazomenos ; the  Latins, 

From  the  chief  character,  name  Phormio : 
Phormio,  whom  you  will  find  a parasite, 

And  the  chief  engine  of  the  plot. — And  now, 
If  to  our  Poet  you  are  well  inclin’d. 

Give  ear ; be  favorable ; and  be  silent ! 

Let  us  not  meet  the  same  ill  fortune  now 
That  we  before  encounter’d,  when  our  troop 
Was  by  a tumult  driven  from  their  place ; 

To  which  the  actor’s  merit,  seconded 
By  your  good-will  and  candor,  has  restor’d  us. 


ACT  THE  FIRST. 

Scene  I. 

Davus  alone. 

Geta,  my  worthy  friend  and  countryman, 

Came  to  me  yesterday : for  some  time  past 
I’ve  ow’d  him  some  small  balance  of  account : 

This  he  desir’d  I would  make  up : I have ; 

And  brought  it  with  me  : for  his  master’s  son, 

I am  inform’d,  has  lately  got  a wife : 

So  I suppose  this  sum  is  scrap’d  together 
For  a bride-gift.  Alack,  how  hard  it  is 
That  he,  who  is  already  poor,  should  still 
Throw  in  his  mite  to  swell  the  rich  man’s  heap ! 

What  he  scarce,  ounce  by  ounce,  from  short  allowance, 
Sorely  defrauding  his  own  appetite, 

Has  spar’d,  poor  wretch ! shall  she  sweep  all  at  once, 
Unheeding  wdth  what  labor  it  was  got  ? 

Geta,  moreover,  shall  be  struck  for  more ; 

Another  gift,  when  madam’s  brought  to  bed ; 

Another  too,  when  master’s  birthday’s  kept. 

And  they  initiate  him. All  this  mamma 

Shall  carry  off,  the  bantling  her  excuse. 

But  is  that  Geta  ? 


Scene  II. 

Enter  Geta. 

Geta  {at  entering).  If  a red-hair’d  man 
Inquire  for  me 


570 


PHORMIO. 


[Act  I 


Davus.  No  more ! he’s  here. 

Geta.  Oh,  Daviis ! 

The  very  man  that  I was  p:oing  after. 

Davus.  Here,  take  this  ! {Gives  a purse.)  ’Tis  all  told 
you’ll  find  it  right ; 

The  sum  I ow’d  you. 

Geta.  Honest,  worthy  Davus  I 
I thank  you  for  your  punctuality. 

Davus.  And  well  you  may,  as  men  and  times  go  now, 
Things,  by  my  troth,  are  come  to  such  a pass, 

If  a man  pays  you  what  he  owes,  you’re  much 
Beholden  to  him. — But,  pray,  why  so  sad? 

Geta.  I ? — You  can  scarce  imagine  in  what  dread. 

What  danger  I am  In. 

Davus.  How  so  ? 

Geta.  I’ll  tell  you, 

So  you  will  keep  it  secret. 

Davus.  Away,  fool ! 

The  man  whose  faith  in  money  you  have  tried. 

D’ye  fear  to  trust  with  words  ? — And  to  what  end 
Should  I deceive  you? 

Geta.  List,  then ! 

Davus.  I’m  all  ear. 

Geta.  D’ye  know  our  old  man’s  elder  brother,  Chremes  ? 
Davus.  Know  him  ? aye,  sure. 

Geta.  You  do  ? — And  his  son  Phtedria  ? 

Davus.  As  well  as  I know  you. 

Geta.  It  so  fell  out. 

Both  the  old  men  were  forc’d  to  journey  forth 
At  the  same  season.  He  to  Lemnos,  ours 
Into  Cilicia,  to  an  old  acquaintance 
Who  had  decoy’d  the  old  curmudgeon  thither 
By  wheedling  letters,  almost  promising 
Mountains  of  gold. 

Davus.  To  one  that  had  so  much 
More  than  enough  already? 

Geta.  Prithee,  peace ! 

Money’s  his  passion. 

Davus.  Oh,  would  I had  been 
A man  of  fortune,  I ! 

Geta.  At  their  departure. 

The  two  old  gentlemen  appointed  me 
A kind  of  governor  to  both  their  sons. 

Davus.  A hard  task,  Geta! 

Geta.  Troth,  I found  it  so. 

My  angry  Genius  for  my  sins  ordain’d  it. 

At  first  I took  upon  me  to  oppose : 

In  short,  while  I was  trusty  to  th’  old  man, 

The  young  one  made  my  shoulders  answer  for  it. 

Davus.  So  I suppose : for  what  a foolish  task 
To  kick  against  the  pricks ! 


Sc.  II.] 


PHORMIO. 


571 


Geta.  I then  resolv’d 

To  give  them  their  own  way  in  every  thing. 

Davus.  Aye,  then  you  made  your  market. 

Geta.  Our  young  spark 
Play’d  no  mad  pranks  at  first : but  Phaedria 
Got  him  immediately  a music-girl : 

Fond  of  her  to  distraction  ! she  belong’d 
To  a most  avaricious,  sordid  pimp ; 

Nor  had  we-  aught  to  give ; — th’  old  gentleman 
Had  taken  care  of  that.  Naught  else  remain’d, 
Except  to  feed  his  eyes,  to  follow  her. 

To  lead  her  out  to  school,  and  hand  her  home. 

We  too,  for  lack  of  other  business,  gave 
Our  time  to  Phaedria.  Opposite  the  school, 

Whither  she  went  to  take  her  lessons,  stood 
A barber’s  shop,  wherein  most  commonly 
We  waited  her  return.  Hither  one  day 
Came  a young  man  in  tears  : we  were  amaz’d, 

And  ask’d  the  cause.  Never  (said  he,  and  wept) 
Did  I suppose  the  weight  of  poverty 
A load  so  sad,  so  insupportable. 

As  it  appear’d  but  now. — I saw  but  now, 

Not  far  from  hence,  a miserable  virgin 
Lamenting  her  dead  mother.  Near  the  corpse 
She  sat ; nor  friend,  nor  kindred,  nor  acquaintance, 
Except  one  poor  old  woman,  Avas  there  near 
To  aid  the  funeral.  I pitied  her : 

Her  beauty,  too,  Avas  exquisite. — In  short. 

He  mov’d  us  all : and  Antipho  at  once 
Cried,  “ Shall  Ave  go  and  visit  her  ?” — Why,  aye, 

“I  think  so,”  said  the  other;  “let  us  go!” 

“ Conduct  us,  if  you  please.” — ^We  Avent,  arriv’d. 
And  saw  her. — Beautiful  she  Avas  indeed ! 

More  justly  to  be  reckon’d  so,  for  she 
Had  no  additions  to  set  off  her  beauty. 

Her  hair  dishevel’d,  barefoot,  Avoe-begone, 

In  tears,  and  miserably  clad : that  if 
The  life  and  soul  of  beauty  had  not  dAA'elt 
Within  her  very  form,  all  these  together 
Must  have  extinguish’d  it. — The  spark,  possess’d 
Already  with  the  music-girl,  just  cried, 

“ She’s  Avell  enough.” — But  our  young  gentleman — 
Davus.  Fell,  I suppose,  in  love. 

Geta.  In  love,  indeed. 

But  mark  the  end  I next  day,  aAvay  he  goes 
To  the  old  Avoman  straight,  beseeching  her 
To  let  him  haA^e  the  girl. — “ Not  she,  indeed ! 

Nor  was  it  like  a gentleman,”  she  said, 

“For  him  to  think  on’t:  She’s  a citizen. 

An  honest  girl,  and  born  of  honest  parents: — 

If  he  would  marry  her  indeed,  by  laAv 
He  might  do  ihat ; on  no  account,  aught  else.” 


572 


PHORMIO. 


[Act  I. 


— Our  spark,  distracted,  knew  not  what  to  do : 

At  once  he  long’d  to  many  her,  at  once 
Dreaded  his  absent  father. 

Davus.  Would  not  he. 

Had  he  return’d,  have  giv’n  consent? 

Get  A.  To  wed 

A girl  of  neither  family  nor  fortune  ? 

Never. 

Davus.  What  then? 

Geta.  What  then!  There  is  a parasite, 

One  Phormio,  a bold,  enterprising  fellow, 

Who — all  the  Gods  confound  him  ! — 

Davus.  What  did  he? 

Geta.  Gave  us  the  following  counsel. — ‘‘There’s  a law 
That  orphan  Girls  should  wed  their  next  of  kin, 

Which  law  obliges  too  their  next  of  kin 
To  marry  them. — Pll  say  that  you’re  her  kinsman, 

And  sue  a writ  against  you.  I’ll  pretend 
To  be  her  father’s  friend,  and  bring  the  cause 
Before  the  judges.  Who  her  father  was. 

Her  mother  who,  and  how  she’s  your  relation. 

All  this  sham  evidence  I’ll  forge ; by  which 
The  cause  will  turn  entirely  in  my  favor. 

You  shall  disprove  no  title  of  the  charge; 

So  I succeed. — Your  father  will  retuim ; 

Prosecute  me; — what  then?— The  girl’s  our  own.”, 
Davus.  A pleasant  piece  of  impudence ! 

Geta.  It  pleas’d 

Our  spark  at  least : he  put  it  into  practice ; 

Came  into  court ; and  he  was  cast ; and  married. 

Davus.  How  say  you? 

Geta.  Just  as  you  have  heard. 

Davus.  Oh  Geta, 

What  will  become  of  you  ? 

Geta.  I don’t  know,  faith. 

But  only  this  I know,  what’er  chance  brings, 

I’ll  patiently  endure. 

Davus.  Why,  that’s  well  said. 

And  like  a man. 

Geta.  All  my  dependence  is 
Upon  myself. 

Davus.  And  that’s  the  best. 

Geta.  I might 

Beg  one  indeed  to  intercede  for  me, 

Who  may  plead  thus — “Nay,  pardon  him  this  once! 

But  if  he  fails  again.  I’ve  not  a word 
To  say  for  him.” — And  well  if  he  don’t  add, 

“When  I go  hence  e’en  hang  him!” 

Davus.  What  of  him. 

Gentleman-usher  to  the  music-girl?  ♦ 

How  goes  he  on  ? 

Geta.  So,  so  ! 


Sc.  III.] 


PHORMIO. 


573 


Davus.  He  has  not  much 
To  give,  perhaps. 

Geta.  Just  nothing,  but  mere  hope. 

Davus.  His  father  too,  is  he  return’d? 

Geta.  Not  yet. 

Davus.  Nor  your  old  man,  when  do  you  look  for  him? 
Geta.  I don’t  know  certainly : but  I have  heard 
That  there’s  a letter  from  him  come  to  port. 

Which  I am  going  for. 

Davus.  Would  you  aught  else 
With  me,  good  Geta? 

Geta.  Nothing,  but  farewell ! {Exit  Davus. 

Ho,  boy ! what,  nobody  at  home ! {Enter  boy.')  Take  this 
And  give  it  Dorcium.  {Gives  the  Purse.,  and  Exit.) 

Scene  HI.  . 

AnTIPHO,  PlIiEDKIA. 

Ant.  Is  it  come  to  this? 

My  father,  Phssdria ! — my  best  friend ! — That  I 
Should  tremble,  when  I think  of  his  return ! 

When,  had  I not  been  inconsiderate, 

I,  as  ’tis  meet,  might  have  expected  him. 

Ph^d.  What  now? 

Ant.  Is  that  a question?  and  from  you? 

Who  know  the  atrocious  fault  I have  committed? 

Oh,  that  it  ne’er  had  enter’d  Phormio’s  mind 
To  give  such  counsel!  nor  to  urge  me  on. 

In  the  extravagance  of  blind  desire. 

To  this  rash  act,  the  source  of  my  misfortunes! 

I should  not  have  possess’d  her:  that  indeed 
Had  made  me  wretched  some  few  days. — But  then 
This  constant  anguish  had  not  torn  my  mind. — 

Ph^d.  I hear  you. 

Ant.  — While  each  moment  I expect 
His  coming  to  divorce  me. 

Ph^d.  Other  men. 

For  lack  of  what  they  love,  are  miserable ; 

Abundance  is  your  grievance.  You’re  too  rich 

A lover,  Antipho ! For  your  condition 

Is  to  be  wish’d  and  pray’d  for.  Now,  by  Heaven, 

Might  I,  so  long  as  you  have  done,  enjoy 
My  love,  it  were  bought  cheaply  with  my  life. 

How  hard  my  lot,  unsatisfied,  unbless’d ! 

How  happy  yours,  in  full  possession  ! — One 
Of  lib’ral  birth,  ingenuous  disposition, 

And  honest  fame,  without  expense,  you’ve  got: 

The  wife,  whom  you  desir’d ! — in  all  things  bless’d. 

But  want  the  disposition  to  believe  so. 

Had  you,  like  me,  a scoundrel  pimp  to  deal  with. 


574 


PHORMIO. 


[Act  I. 


Then  you’d  perceive — But  sure  ’tis  in  our  nature 
Never  to  be  contented. 

Ant.  Now  to  me, 

Phsedria,  ’tis  you  appear  the  happy  man. 

Still  quite  at  large,  free  to  consider  still, 

To  keep,  pursue,  or  quit  her:  I,  alas! 

Have  so  entangled  and  perplex’d  myself, 

That  I can  neither  keep  nor  let  her  go. 

— What  now?  isn’t  that  our  Geta,  whom  I see 

Running  this  way  ? — ’Tis  he  himself Ah  me^ 

How  do  I fear  what  news  he  brings! 


Scene  IV. 

Enter  at  a distance  Geta,  running. 

Geta.  Confusion ! * 

A quick  thought,  Geta,  or  you’re  quite  undone. 

So  many  evils  take  you  unprepar’d; 

Which  I know  neither  how  to  shun  nor  how 
To  extricate  myself : for  this  bold  stroke 
Of  ours  can’t  long  be  hid. 

Ant.  What’s  this  confusion? 

Geta.  Then  I have  scarce  a moment’s  time  to  think. 

My  master  is  arriv’d. 

Ant.  What  mischief’s  that? 

Geta.  Who,  when  he  shall  have  heard  it,  by  what  art 
Shall  I appease  his  anger?— Shall  I speak? 

’Twill  irritate  him. — Hold  my  peace? — enrage  him. — 
Defend  myself?— impossible? — Oh,  wretch! 

Now  for  myself  in  pain,  now  Antipho 
Distracts  my  mind. — But  him  I pity  most ; 

For  him  I fear;  ’tis  he  retains  me  here: 

For,  were  it  not  for  him,  I’d  soon  provide 
For  my  own  safety — aye,  and  be  reveng’d 
On  the  old  graybeard — carry  something  off, 

And  show  my  master  a light  pair  of  heels. 

Ant.  What  scheme  to  rob  and  run  away  is  this? 

Geta.  But  where  shall  I find  Antipho?  where  seek  him? 
Phjed.  He  mentions  you. 

Ant.  I know  not  what,  but  doubt 
That  he’s  the  messenger  of  some  ill  news. 

Ph^ed.  Have  you  your  wits? 

Geta.  I’ll  home : he’s  chiefly  there. 

Ph^d.  Let’s  call  him  back ! 

Ant.  Holloa,  you ! stop ! 

Geta.  Heyday ! 

Authority  enough,  be  who  you  will. 

Ant.  Geta! 

Geta  {turning).  The  very  man  I wish’d  to  meet! 

Ant.  Tell  us,  what  news? — in  one  word,  if  you  can. 


Sc.  IV.] 


PHORMIO. 


575 


Geta.  I’ll  do  it. 

Ant.  Speak! 

Geta.  This  moment  at  the  port 

Ant.  My  father? 

Geta.  Even  so. 

Ant.  Undone! 

Ph^d.  Heyday! 

Ant.  What  shall  I do? 

Ph^d.  What  say  you?  (7b  Geta.) 

Geta.  That  I’ve  seen 
His  father,  Sir, — your  uncle. 

Ant.  How  shall  I, 

Wretch  that  I am ! oppose  this  sudden  evil ! 

Should  I be  so  unhappy  to  be  torn 

From  thee,  my  Phanium,  life’s  not  worth  my  care. 

Geta  Since  that’s  the  case  then,  Antipho,  you  ought 
io  be  the  more  upon  your  guard. 

Ant.  Alas! 

I’m  not  myself. 

Geta.  But  now  you  should  be  most  so,  Antipho. 

For  if  your  father  should  discern  vour  fear. 

He’ll  think  you  conscious  of  a fault. 

PHAiD.  That’s  true. 


Ant.  I can  not  help  it,  nor  seem  otherwise. 

manage  in  worse  difficulties  ? 
Ant.  Since  I m not  equal  to  bear  this,  to  those 
I should  be  more  unequal. 

Geta.  This  is  nothing. 

Pooh,  Ph£edria,  let  him  go!  why  waste  our  time^ 

I will  be  gone.  (Going.) 

Ph^ed.  And  I.  (Going.) 

Ant.  Nay,  prithee,  stay! 

What  if  I should  dissemble ?— Will  that  do? 

(Endeavoring  to  assume  another  air» 
Geta.  Ridiculous ! 


Ant.  Nay,  look  at  me!  will  that 
Suffice  ? 

Geta.  Not  it. 

Ant.  Or  this? 

Geta.  Almost. 

Ant.  Or  this? 


Geta  Aye!  now  youVe  hit  it.  Do  but  stick  to  that; 
Answer  him  boldly ; give  him  hit  for  dash, 

Nor  let  him  bear  you  down  with  angrv  words. 

Ant.  I understand  you. 

Geta.  “Forc’d”— “against  your  will”— 

“By  law”— “by  sentence  of  the  court”— d’ve  take  me? 
— But  what  old  gentleman  is  that  I see 
At  t’other  end  o’  th’  street? 

Ant.  ’Tis  he  himself. 

I dare  not  face  him.  {Going.) 


57G 


PHORMIO. 


[Act  I. 


Geta.  Ah ! what  is’t  you  do  ? 

Where  d’ye  run,  Antipho!  stay,  stay,  I say. 

Ant.  I know  myself  and  my  offense  too  well : 

To  you,  then,  I commend  my  life  and  love.  {Exit, 


Scene  V. 

Manent  Ph^dria  and  Geta. 

Ph^d.  Geta,  what  now? 

Geta.  You  shall  be  roundly  chid ; 

I soundly  drubb’d;  or  I am  much  deceiv’d. 

— But  w'hat  e’en  now  we  counsel’d  Antipho, 

It  now  behooves  ourselves  to  practice,  Phsedria. 

Ph^d.  Talk  not  of  what  behooves,  but  say  at  once 
What  you  would  have  me  do. 

Geta.  Do  you  remember 
The  plea  whereon  you  both  agreed  to  rest. 

At  your  first  vent’ring  on  this  enterprise  ? 

“That  Phormio’s  suit  was  just,  sure,  equitable. 

Not  to  be  controverted.” 

Ph^d.  I remember. 

Geta.  Now  then  that  plea!  or,  if  it’s  possible, 

One  better  or  more  plausible. 

Phjed.  I’ll  do’t. 

Geta.  Do  you  attack  him  first!  I’ll  lie  in  ambush, 
To  reinforce  you,  if  you  give  ground. 

Ph^d.  Well.  {They  retire.) 

Scene  VI. 

Enter  Demipiio  at  another  part  of  the  stage. 

Dem.  Ho\v’s  this?  a wife!  what,  Antipho!  and  ne’er 

Ask  my  consent? — nor  my  authority 

Or,  grant  we  pass  authority,  not  dread 

My  wrath  at  least? — To  have  no  sense  of  shame? 

— Oh,  impudence! — Oh,  Geta,  rare  adviser! 

Geta.  Geta  at  last. 

Dem.  What  they  will  say  to  me. 

Or  what  excuse  they  will  devise,  I wonder. 

Geta.  Oh,  we  have  settled  that  already:  think 
Of  something  else. 

Dem.  Will  he  say  this  to  me, 

— “Against  my  will  I did  it” — “Forc’d  by  law” — 

— I hear  you : I confess  it. 

Geta.  Very  well. 

Dem.  But  conscious  of  the  fraud,  without  a word 
In  answer  or  defense,  to  yield  the  cause 
Tamely  to  your  opponents — did  the  law 
Force  you  to  that  too? 


VI.] 


PIIORMIO. 


577 


Ph^d.  That’s  home. 

Geta.  Give  me  leave. 

I’ll  manage  it. 

Dem.  I know  not  what  to  do: 

This  stroke  has  come  so  unawares-  upon  me, 

Beyond  all  expectation,  past  belief. 

— I’m  so  enrag’d,  I can’t  compose  my  mind 
To  think  upon  it. — Wherefore  ev’ry  man, 

When  his  affairs  go  on  most  swimmingly, 

Ev’n  then  it  most  behooves  to  arm  himself 
Against  the  coming  storm:  loss,  danger,  exile. 

Returning  ever  let  him  look  to  meet; 

His  son  in  fault,  wife  dead,  or  daughter  sick — 

All  common  accidents,  and  may  have  happen’d ; 

That  nothing  should  seem  new  or  strange.  But  if 
Aught  has  fall’n  out  beyond  his  hopes,  all  that 
Let  him  account  clear  gain. 

Geta.  Oh,  Phaadria, 

’Tis  wonderful  how  much  a wiser  man 
I am  than  my  old  master.  My  misfortunes 
I have  consider’d  well.— At  his  return 
Doom’d  to  grind  ever  in  the  mill,  beat,  chain’d. 

Or  set  to  labor  in  the  fields ; of  these 
Nothing  will  happen  new.  If  aught  falls  out 
Beyond  my  hopes,  all  that  I’ll  count  clear  gain. 

— ‘But  why  delay  t’accost  th’  old  gentleman, 

And  speak  him  fair  at  first?  goes  forward.) 

Dem.  Methinks  I see 
My  nephew  Phaedria. 

Ph^d.  My  good  Uncle,  welcome! 

Dem.  Your  servant! — But  where’s  Antipho? 

Ph^ed.  I’m  glad 

To  see  you  safe 

Dem.  Well,  well ! — But  answer  mo. 

Ph^d.  He’s  well:  hard  by. — But  have  affairs  turn’d  out 
According  to  your  wishes? 

Dem.  Would  they  had! 

Ph^d.  Why,  what’s  the  matter? 

Dem.  What’s  the  matter,  Phaedria? 

You’ve  clapp’d  up  a tine  marriage  in  my  absence. 

Ph.ed.  What!  are  you  angry  with  him  about  that? 
Geta.  Well  counterfeited! 

Dem.  Should  I not  be  angry? 

Let  me  but  set  eyes  on  him,  he  shall  know 
That  his  offenses  have  converted  me 
From  a mild  father  to  a most  severe  one. 

Ph^d.  He  has  done  nothing.  Uncle,  to  offend  you. 
Dem.  See,  all  alike ! the  whole  gang  hangs  together ; 
Know  one,  and  you  know  all. 

Ph^d.  Nay,  ’tis  not  so. 

Dem.  One  does  a fault,  the  other’s  hard  at  hand 
B B 


578 


PHORMIO. 


[Act  I.,  Sc.  VL 


To  hear  liiin  out:  when  t’other  slips,  he's  ready: 

Each  in  their  turn  I 

Geta.  1’  faith  th’  old  gentleman 
Has  blunder’d  on  their  humors  to  a hair. 

Dem.  If  ’twere  not  so,  you’d  not  defend  him,  Phrcdria. 
PiEED.  If,  Uncle,  Antipho  has  done  a wrong, 

Or  to  his  interest  or  reputation, 

I am  content  he  suffer  as  he  may  : 

But  if  another,  with  malicious  fraud. 

Has  laid  a snare  for  unexperienced  youth. 

And  triumph’d  o’er  it;  can  you  lay  the  blame 
On  us,  or  on  the  judges,  who  oft  take 
Through  envy  from  the  rich,  or  from  compassion 
Add  to  the  poor? 

Geta.  Unless  I knew  the  cause, 

I should  imagine  this  was  truth  he  spoke. 

Dem.  What  judge  can  know  the  merits  on  your  sidc^ 
When  you  put  in  no  plea;  as  he  has  done? 

Pii^D.  He  has  behav’d  like  an  ingenuous  youth. 

When  he  came  into  court,  he  wanted  pow’r 
'fo  utter  what  he  had  prepar’d,  so  much 
He  was  abash’d  by  fear  and  modesty. 

Geta.  Oh  brave ! — But  why,  without  more  loss  of  time. 
Don’t  I accost  th’  old  man!  {Going  up.)  My  master,  welcome! 
I am  rejoic’d  to  see  you  safe  return’d. 

Dem.  What!  my  good  master  Governor!  your  slave! 

The  prop!  the  pillar  of  our  family! 

To  whom,  at  my  departure  hence,  I gave 
My  son  in  charge. 

Geta.  I’ve  , heard  you  for  some  time 
Accuse  us  all  quite  undeservedly, 

And  me,  of  all,  most  undeservedly. 

For  what  could  I have  done  in  this  affair  ? 

A slave  the  laws  will  not  allow  to  plead; 

Nor  can  he  be  an  evidence. 

Dem.  I grant  it. 

Nay  more — the  boy  was  bashful — I allow  it. 

— ^You  but  a slave. — But  if  she  had  been  prov’d 
Ever  so  plainly  a relation,  why 
Needed  he  marry  her?  and  why  not  rather 
Give  her,  according  to  the  law,  a portion. 

And  let  her  seek  some  other  for  a husband? 

Why  did  he  rather  bring  a beggar  home? 

Geta.  ’Twas  not  the  thought,  but  money  that  was  wanting. 
Dem.  He  might  have  borrow’d  it ! 

Geta.  Have  borrow’d  it ! 

Easily  said. 

Dem.  If  not  to  be  had  else, 

On  interest. 

Geta.  Nay,  now  indeed  you’ve  hit  it! 

Who  would  advance  him  money  in  your  life? 


Act  II.,  Sc.  L] 


rilOKMIO. 


57a 


DE:yr.  Well,  well,  it  shall  not,  and  it  can  not  be. 
That  I should  suffer  her  to  live  with  him 
As  wife  a single  day.  There  is  no  cause. 
—Would  I might  see  that  fellow,  or  could  tell 
Where  he  resides ! 

Geta.  What,  Phormio ! 

Dem.  The  girl’s  Patron. 

Geta.  He  shall  be  with  you  straio-ht. 

Dem.  Where’s  Antipho  ? ° 

Ph^d.  Abroad. 

Dem.  Go,  Pha?dria ; find  him,  bring  him  here. 

Ph^d.  I’ll  go  directly. 

Geta  (ciside^.  Aye,  to  Pamphila. 

Scene  VII. 

Demipiio  alone. 

^ 1 11  home,  and  thank  the  Gods  for  my  return  * 

Thence  to  the  Forum,  and  convene  some  friends. 
Who  may  be  present  at  this  interview. 

That  Phormio  may  not  take  me  unprepar’d. 


ACT  THE  SECOND. 

Scene  I. 

PiiOR3iio,  Geta. 

Phor.  And  Antipho,  you  say,  has  slunk  awav, 

± earing  his  father’s  presence  ? 

Geta.  Very  true. 

Phor.  Poor  Phanium  left  alone? 

Geta.  ’Tis  even  so. 

I HOR.  And  the  old  gentleman  enra<^'’d  ^ 

Geta.  Indeed. 

I HOR.  Ihe  sum  of  all  then,  Phormio,  rests  on  you 
On  you,  and  you  alone.  You’ve  bak’d  this  cake; 

E ^ eat  It  for  your  pains.  About  it  then ! 

Geta.  I do  beseech  you. 

Phor.  (^to  himself).  What  if  he  inquire?— 

Geta.  Our  only  hope’s  in  you. 

^ Phor.  {to  himsff).  I have  it!— Then 
Suppose  he  offer  to  return  the  girl?—  ’ 

Geta.  You  urg’d  its  to  it. 

Phor.  (to  himself).  Aye ! it  shall  be  so. 

Geta.  Assist  us ! 

Phor*  Pet  him  come,  old  gentleman! 

engender’d:  I am  arm’d 
With  all  my  counsels. 


{Exit. 

(Exit. 


(Exit. 


580 


PIIORMIO. 


[Act  II. 


Geta.  What  mean  to  do? 

Phor.  What  would  you  have  me  do,  unless  contrive 
That  Phanium  may  remain,  that  Antijjho 
Be  freed  from  blame,  and  all  the  old  man’s  rage 
Turn’d  upon  me? 

Geta.  Brave  fellow ! friend  indeed ! 

And  yet  I often  tremble  for  you,  Phormio, 

Lest  all  this  noble  confidence  of  yours 
End  in  the  stocks  at  last. 

Phor.  Ah,  ’tis  not  so. 

I’m  an  old  stager  too,  and  know  my  road. 

How  many  men  d’ye  think  I’ve  bastinadoed 
Almost  to  death  ? Aliens  and  citizens  ? 

The  oft’ner,  still  the  safer. — Tell  me  then, 

Didst  ever  hear  of  actions  for  assault 
And  batt’ry  brought  against  me*? 

Geta.  How  comes  that? 

Phor.  Because  the  net’s  not  stretch’d  to  catch  the  haw'k, 
Or  kite,  who  do  us  wrong;  but  laid  for  those 
Who  do  us  none  at  all:  In  them  there’s  profit, 

In  those  mere  labor  lost.  Thus  other  men 
May  be  in  danger  who  have  aught  to  lose ; 

I,  the  world  knows,  have  nothing. — You  will  say. 

They’ll  seize  my  person. — No,  they  won’t  maintain 
A fellow  of  my  stomach. — And  they’re  wise. 

In  my  opinion,  if  for  injuries 
They’ll  not  return  the  highest  benefit. 

Geta.  It  is  impossible  for  Antipho 
To  give  you  thanks  suihcient. 

Phor.  Rather  say, 

No  man  sufficiently  can  thank  his  patron. 

You  at  free  cost  to  come ! anointed,  bath’d. 

Easy  and  gay!  while  he’s  eat  up  with  care 
And  charge,  to  cater  for  your  entertainment! 

He  gnaws  his  heart,  you  laugh ; eat  first,  sit  first, 

And  see  a doubtful  banquet  plac’d  before  you! 

Geta.  Doubtful!  what  phrase  is  that? 

Phor.  Where  you’re  in  doubt. 

What  you  shall  rather  choose.  Delights  like  these 
When  you  but  think  how  sweet,  how  dear,  they  are; 

Him  that  affords  them  must  you  not  suppose 
A very  deity? 

Geta.  The  old  man’s  here. 

Mind  what  you  do!  the  first  attack’s  the  fiercest: 

Sustain  but  that,  the  rest  will  be  mere  play.  {They  retire.) 

Scene  H. 

Enter  at  a distance  Demipho — Hegio,  Cratinus’,  Crito,  following. 

Dem.  Was  ever  man  so  grossly  treated,  think  ye? 

— This  way.  Sirs,  I beseech  you. 


Sc.  II.] 


rilORMlO. 


581 


Geta.  He’s  en raid’d ! 

Piioii.  Hist!  mind  your  cue:  I’il  work  him. 

— {Coming  forward^  and  speaking  loud.)  Oh,  ye  Gods! 

Does  he  deny  that  Phanium’s  his  relation? 

What,  Demipho!  does  Demipho  deny 
That  Phanium  is  his  kinswoman? 

Geta.  He  does. 

Phor.  And  who  her  father  was,  he  does  not  know  ? 

Geta.  No. 

Dem.  (to  the  Lawyers).  Here’s  the  very  fellow,  I believe. 

Of  whom  I have  been  speaking. — Follow  me  ! 

Phor.  {aloud).  And  that  he  does  not  know  who  Stilpho  was? 
Geta.  No. 

Phor.  Ah!  because,  poor  thing,  she’s  left  in  vrant. 

Her  father  is  unknowm,  and  she  despis’d. 

What  will  not  avarice  do  ? 

Geta.  If  you  insinuate 
My  master’s  avaricious,  woe  be  to  you  ! 

Dem.  {hehmd).  Oh  impudence!  he  dares  accuse  me  first. 
Phor.  As  to  the  youth,  I can  not  take  oftense. 

If  he  had  not  much  knowledge  of  him ; since. 

Now  in  the  vale  of  years,  in  want,  his  work 

His  livelihood,  he  nearly  altogether 

Liv’d  in  the  country:  where  he  held  a farm 

Under  my  father.  I have  often  heard 

The  poor  old  man  complain  that  this  his  kinsman 

Neglected  him. — But  what  a man ! A man 

Of  most  exceeding  virtue. 

Geta.  Much  at  one: 

Yourself  and  he  you  praise  so  much. 

Phor.  Away! 

Had  I not  thought  him  what  I’ve  spoken  of  him, 

I would  not  for  his  daughter’s  sake  have  drawn 
So  many  troubles  on  our  family. 

Whom  this  old  cuff  now  treats  so  scandalously. 

Geta.  What,  still  abuse  my  absent  master,  rascal! 

Phor.  It  is  no  more  than  he  deserves. 

Geta.  How,  villain ! 

Dem.  Geta!  (Calling.) 

Geta.  Rogue,  robber,  pettifogger ! ( To  Phormio  p^'etend- 

ing  not  to  hear  Demipho.) 

Dem.  Geta! 

Phor.  Answer.  {Apart  to  Geta.) 

Geta  {turning).  \Vdio’s  that? — Oh! 

Dem.  Peace! 

Geta.  Behind  your  back 
All  day  without  cessation  has  this  knave 
Thrown  scurvy  terms  upon  you,  such  as  none 
But  men  like  him  can  merit. 

Dem.  Well!  have  done. 

" {Putting  Geta  hy,  then  addressing  PiiORMlo.) 


582 


J^IORMIO. 


[Act  II; 


Young  man!  permit  me  first  to  ask  one  question. 

And,  if  you  please,  vouchsafe  to  answer  me. 

— Who  was  this  friend  of  yours  ? Explain ! and  how 
Might  he  pretend  that  I was  liis  relation? 

Ehor.  So  ! you  fish  for’t,  as  if  you  did  not  know.  {Sneer^ 
ingly.) 

Dem.  Know II! 

Phor.  Aye;  you. 

Dem.  Not  I:  You  that  maintain 
I ought,  instruct  me  how  to  recollect. 

Phor.  What!  not  acquainted  with  your  cousin? 

Dem.  Plague! 

Tell  me  his  name. 

Phor.  His  name?  aye! 

Dem.  Well,  why  don’t  you? 

Phor.  Confusion  ! I’ve  forgot  the  name.  {Apart,') 

Dem.  What  say  you? 

Phor.  Geta,  if  you  remember,  prompt  me. 

{Apart  to  Geta.) Pshaw, 

I will  not  tell. — As  if  you  did  not  know, 

You’re  come  to  try  me.  {Loud  to  Demipho.) 

Dem.  How  ! try  you  ? 

Geta.  Stilpho.  {Whispering  Phormio.) 

Phor.  What  is’t  to  me? — Stilpho. 

Dem.  Whom  say  you? 

Phor.  Stilpho: 

Did  you  know  Stilpho,  Sir? 

Dem.  I neither  know  him. 

Nor  ever  had  I kinsman  of  that  name. 

Phor.  How!  are  you  not  asham’d? — But  if,  poor  man, 
Stilpho  had  left  behind  him  an  estate 

Of  some  ten  talents 

Dem.  Out  upon  you! 

Phor.  Then 

You  would  have  been  the  first  to  trace  your  line 
Quite  from  your  grandsire  and  great  grandsire. 

Dem.  True. 

Had  I then  come.  I’d  have  explain’d  at  large 
How  she  was  my  relation : so  do  you ! 

Say,  how  is  she  my  kinswoman  ? 

Geta.  Well  said! 

Master,  you’re  right. — Take  heed ! {Apart  to  Phormio.) 
Phor.  I have  explain’d 

All  that  most  clearly,  where  I ought,  in  court. 

If  it  were  false,  why  did  not  then  your  son 
Refute  it  ? 

Dem.  Do  you  tell  me  of  my  son  ? 

Whose  folly  can’t  be  spoke  of  as  it  ought. 

Phor.  But  you,  who  are  so  wise,  go  seek  the  judge : 

Ask  sentence  in  the  self-same  cause  again  : 

Because  you’re  lord  alone,  and  have  alone 


Sc.  II.J 


PllOJiMIO. 


583 


Pow’r  to  obtain  judgment  of  the  court 
Twice  in  one  cause. 

Dem.  Although  I have  been  wrong’d, 

Yet,  rather  than  engage  in  litigation. 

And  rather  than  liear  you ; as  if  she  were 

Indeed  related  to  us,  as  the  law 

Ordains,  I’ll  pay  her  dowry ; take  her  hence, 

And  with  her  take  five  inina?. 

Phor.  Ha!  ha!  ha! 

A pleasant  gentleman ! 

Dem.  Why,  what’s  the  matter? 

Have  I demanded  any  thing  unjust? 

Sha’n’t  I obtain  this  neither,  which  is  law? 

Phor.  Is’t  even  so.  Sir? — Like  a common  harlot, 
When  you’ve  abus’d  her,  does  the  laAv  ordain 
That  you  should  pay  her  hire  and  whistle  her  off? 

Or,  lest  a citizen  through  poverty 
Bring  shame  upon  her  honor,  does  it  order 
That  she  be  given  to  her  next  of  kin 
To  pass  her  life  with  him?  which  you  forbid. 

Dem.  Aye;  to  her  next  of  kin:  But  why  to  us; 

Or  wherefore  ? 

Phor.  Oh ! that  matter  is  all  settled : 

Think  on’t  no  more. 

Dem.  Not  think  on’t!  I shall  think 
Of  nothing  else  till  there’s  an  end  of  this. 

Phor.  Words,  words! 

Dem.  I’ll  make  them  good. 

Phor.  But,  after  all. 

With  you  1 have  no  business,  Demipho! 

Your  son  is  cast,  not  you : for  at  your  age 
The  coupling-time  is  over. 

Dem.  Be  assur’d 

That  all  I’ve  said  he  says : or  I’ll  forbid 
Him  and  this  wife  of  his  my  house. 

Geta.  He’s  angry.  {Apart.) 

Phor.  No;  you’ll  think  better  on’t. 

Dem.  Are  you  resolv’d. 

Wretch  that  you  are,  to  thwart  me  ev’ry  way? 

Phor.  He  fears,  though  he  dissembles.)  . 

Geta.  Well  begun!  | ' 

Phor.  Well;  but  what  can’t  be  cur’d  must  be  endur’d: 
’Twere  well,  and  like  yourself,  that  we  were  friends. 

Dem.  I!  friend  to  you?  or  choose  to  see  or  hear  you! 
Phor.  Do  but  agree  with  her,  you’ll  have  a girl 
To  comfort  your  old  age.  Your  years,  consider! 

Dem.  Plague  on  your  comfort!  take  her  to  yourself! 
Phor.  Ah  ! don’t  be  angry ! 

Dem.  One  word  more,  I’ve  done. 

See  that  you  fetch  away  this  wench,  and  soon. 

Or  I shall  turn  her  headlong  out  o’doors. 

So  much  for  Phormiol 


584 


PHORMIO. 


[Ac^  II. 


PiiOR.  Offer  but  to  touch  her 
In  any  other  manner  than  beseems 
A gentlewoman  and  a citizen, 

And  I shall  bring  a swinging  writ  against  you. 

So  much  for  Demipho ! — If  I am  wanted, 

I am  at  home,  d’ye  hear?  {Apart  to  Geta.) 

Geta.  I understand.  {Apart.')  {Exit  Piiormio. 

Scene  III. 

Dem.  AYith  how  much  care,  and  what  solicitude. 

My  son  affects  me,  with  this  wretched  match 
Having  embroil’d  himself  and  me ! nor  comes 
Into  my  sight,  that  I might  know  at  least 
Or  what  he  says,  or  thinks  of  this  affair. 

Go  you,  and  see  if  he’s  come  home  or  no. 

Geta.  Pm  gone.  {Exit. 

Dem.  You  see,  Sirs,  how  this  matter  stands. 

What  shall  I do  ? Say,  Hegio  ! 

Hegio.  Meaning  me? 

Cratinus,  please  you,  should  speak  first. 

Dem.  Say  then, 

Cratinus ! 

Cra.  Me  d’ye  question  ? 

Dem.  You. 

Cra.  Then  I, 

Whatever  steps  are  best  I’d  have  you  take. 

Thus  it  appears  to  me.  Whate’er  your  son 
Has  in  your  absence  done  is  null  and  void, 

In  law  and  equity. — And  so  you’ll  find. 

That’s  my  opinion. 

Dem.  Say  now,  Hegio! 

Hegio.  He  has,  I think,  pronounc’d  most  learnedly. 

But  so  ’tis : many  men,  and  many  minds! 

Each  has  his  fancy:  Now,  in  my  opinion, 

Whate’er  is  done  by  law  can’t  be  undone. 

’Tis  shameful  to  attempt  it. 

Dem.  Say  you,  Crito ! 

Crito.  The  case,  I think,  asks  more  deliberation. 

’Tis  a nice  point. 

Hegio.  Would  you  aught  else  with  us? 

Dem.  You’ve  utter’d  oracles.  {Exeunt  Lawyers.)  I’m  more 
uncertain 

Now  than  I was  before. 

Re-enter  Geta. 

Geta.  He’s  not  return’d. 

Dem.  My  brother,  as  I hope,  will  soon  arrive : 

Whate’er  advice  he  gives  me,  that  I’ll  follow. 

I’ll  to  the  Port,  and  ask  when  they  expect  him.  {Exit 
Geta.  And  I’ll  go  find  out  Antipho,  and  tell  him 
All  that  has  pass’d. — But  here  he  comes  in  time. 


Sc.  IV.] 


rilOTlMIO. 


585 


Scene  IV. 

Elder  at  a distance  Antipiio. 

Ant.  (to  himself).  Indeed,  indeed,  my  Antipho, 

You’re  much  to  blame,  to  be  so  poor  in  spirit. 

What ! steal  away  so  guilty-like ! and  trust 
Your  life  and  safety  to  the  care  of  others ! 

Would  they  be  touch’d  more  nearly  than  yourself? 

Come  what  come  might  of  ev’ry  thing  beside, 

Could  you  abandon  the  dear  maid  at  home  ? 

Could  you  so  far  deceive  her  easy  faith. 

And  leave  her  to  misfortune  and  distress? 

Her,  who  plac’d  all  her  hopes  in  you  alone? 

Geta  (coming  forward).  1’  faith.  Sir,  we  have  thought  you 
much  to  blame 

For  your  long  absence. 

Ant.  You’re  the  very  man 
That  I was  looking  for. 

Geta.  But  ne’ertheless 

We’ve  miss’d  no  opportunity. 

Ant.  Oh,  speak! 

How  go  my  fortunes,  Geta  ? has  my  father 
Any  suspicion  that  I was  in  league 
With  Phormio? 

Geta.  Not  a jot. 

Ant.  And  may  I hope? 

Geta.  I don’t  know. 

Ant.  Ah! 

Geta.  Unless  that  Phicdria 
Did  all  he  could  do  for  you. — 

Ant.  Nothing  new. 

Geta.  — And  Phormio  has  on  all  occasions  else 
Prov’d  himself  a brave  fellow. 

Ant.  What  did  he  ? 

Geta.  Out-swagger’d  your  hot  father. 

Ant.  Well  said,  Phormio ! 

Geta.  — I did  the  best  I could  too. 

Ant.  Honest  Geta, 

I am  much  bounden  to  you  all. 

Geta.  Thus,  Sir, 

Stand  things  at  present.  As  yet  all  is  calm. 

Your  father  means  to  wait  your  uncle’s  coming. 

Ant.  For  what? 

Geta.  For  his  advice,  as  he  propos’d ; 

By  which  he  will  be  rul’d  in  this  affair. 

Ant.  How  do  I dread  my  uncle’s  coming,  Geta. 

Since  by  his  sentence  I must  live  or  die ! 

Geta.  But  here  comes  Phaedria. 

Bb2 


586 


riioiiMio. 


[Act  II. 


Ant.  AHiere  ? 

Geta.  From  his  old  school.  {They  retire,') 

Scene  V. 

Enter,  from  Dorio's,  Doric,  Pujedria  following, 

Ph^d.  Nay,  hear  me,  Dorio! 

Doric.  Not  I. 

PiiiED.  But  a word! 

Doric.  Let  me  alone. 

PiiiED.  Pray  hear  me! 

Doric.  I am  tir’d 

With  hearing  the  same  thing  a thousand  times. 

Pn^D.  But  what  I’d  say  you  would  be  glad  to  hear. 
Doric.  Speak  then  ! I hear. 

Ph^d.  Can’t  I prevail  on  you. 

To  stay  but  these  three  days? — Nay,  where  d’ye  go? 

Doric.  I should  have  wonder’d  had  you  said  aught  new. 
Ant.  {behind).  This  pimp,  I fear,  will  work  himself  no 
good. 

Geta.  I fear  so  too. 

Ph^d.  Won’t  you  believe  me? 

Doric.  Guess. 

Ph^d.  Upon  iny  honor. 

Doric.  Nonsense. 

Pii^D.  ’Tis  a kindness 
Shall  be  repaid  with  interest. 

Doric.  Words,  words! 

Ph^d.  You’ll  be  glad  on’t;  you  will,  believe  me. 

Doric.  Pshaw! 

Ph^d.  Try  ; ’tis  not  long. 

Doric.  You’re  in  the  same  tune  still. 

Ph^d.  My  kinsman,  parent,  friend ! 

Doric.  Aye,  talk  away. 

PhyEd.  Can  you  be  so  inflexible,  so  cruel, 

That  neither  pity  nor  entreaties  touch  you? 

Doric.  And  can  you  be  so  inconsiderate. 

And  so  unconscionable,  Phsedria, 

To  think  that  you  can  talk  me  to  your  purpose, 

And  wheedle  me  to  give  the  girl  for  nothing? 

Ant.  {behind).  Poor  Phoedria! 

Ph^d.  {to  himself ),  Alas!  he  speaks  the  truth. 

Geta  {to  Antipho).  How  well  they  each  support  their  char- 
acters ! 

Ph^d.  {to  himself).  Then  that  this  evil  should  have  come 
upon  me. 

When  Antipho  was  in  the  like  distress! 

Ant.  {going  up).  Ha ! what  now,  Phicdria  ? 

Phyed.  Happy,  happy  Antipho  ! 

Ant.  I ? 


Sc.  V.] 


PHORMIO. 


Piled.  Who  have  her  you  love  in  your  possession, 

Nor  e’er  had  plagues  like  these  to  struggle  with! 

Ant.  In  my  possession  yes,  I have,  indeed. 

As  the  old  saying  goes,  a wolf  by  th’  ears : 

For  I can  neither  part  with  her  nor  keep  her. 

Dorio.  ’Tis  just  my  case  with  him. 

Ant.  (to  Dorio).  Thou  thorough  bawd ! 

(To  PiiiEDRiA.)  AVhat  has  he  done?  . 

Pn^D.  Done? — The  inhuman  wretch 
Has  sold  my  Pamphiln. 

Geta.  AVhat!  sold  her? 

Ant.  Sold  her? 

Ph^d.  Yes ; sold  her. 

Dorio  (laughing).  Sold  her. — AA^hat  a monstrous  crime ! 

A wench  he  paid  his  ready  money  for. 

PHyED.  I can’t  prevail  upon  him  to  wait  for  me. 

And  to  stave  off  his  bargain  but  three  days; 

Till  I obtain  the  money  from  my  friends, 

According  to  their  promise. — If  I do  not 
Pay  it  you  then,  don’t  wait  a moment  longer! 

Dorio.  You  stun  me. 

Ant.  ’Tis  a very  little  time 
For  which  he  asks  your  patience,  Dorio. 

Let  him  prevail  on  you;  your  complaisance 
Shall  be  requited  doubly. 

Dorio.  AVords;^  mere  words! 

Ant.  Can  3mu  then  bear  to  see  your  Pamphila 
Torn  from  this  city,  Phsedria  ? — Can  yon,  Dorio, 

Divide  their  loves? 

Dorio.  Nor  I,  nor  3 011. 

Geta.  Plague  on  yon ! 

Dorio  (to  PniEDRiA).  I have,  against  my  natural  disposition, 
Borne  with  you  several  months,  still  promising, 

AVhimpering,  and  ne’er  performing  any  thing: 

Now,  on  the  contrary,  I’ve  found  a spark, 

AATo’ll  prove  a read3"-pa3"master,  no  sniveler  : 

Gwe  place  then  to  your  betters ! 

Ant.  Surely,  Phredria, 

There  was,  if  I remember,  a da\'  settled 
That  3^011  should  pay  the  money  down. 

Ph^d.  There  was. 

Dorio.  Do  I deny  it? 

Ant.  Is  the  day  past? 

Dorio.  No. 

But  this  has  come  before  it. 

Ant.  Infamous ! 

Ar’n’t  you  asham’d  of  such  base  treachery? 

Dorio.  Not  I,  while  I can  get  by’t. 

Geta.  Scavenger ! 

PiiiED.  Is  this  just  dealing,  Dorio? 

Dorio.  ’Tis  my  way : 

So,  if  \-on  me.  use  me. 


588 


PHORMIO. 


[Act  II.,  Sc.  VI. 


Ant.  Can  yon  deceive  him  thus  ? 

Dokio.  Nay,  Antipho, 

’Tis  he  deceives  me:  he  was  well  aware 
What  kind  of  man  I was,  but  I believ’d 
Him  diff’rent.  He  has  disappointed  me, 

But  I am  still  the  same  to  him  as  ever. 

However,  thus  much  I can  do  for  him ; 

The  Captain  ;^romis’d  to  pay  down  the  money 
To-morrow  morning.  But  now,  Phiedria, 

If  you  come  first,  I’ll  follow  my  old  rule, 

“The  first  to  pay  shall  be  first  serv’d.”  Farewell.  {Exit, 

Scene  VI. 

Pii^DRiA,  Antipho,  Geta. 

Ph^d.  What  shall  I do?  Unhappy  that  I am, 

How  shall  I,  who  am  almost  worse  than  nothing, 

Raise  such  a sum  so  suddenly  ? — Alas  ! 

Had  I prevail’d  on  him  to  wait  three  days, 

I had  a promise  of  it. 

Ant.  Shall  we,  Geta, 

Suffer  my  Phsedria  to  be  miserable? 

My  best  friend  Phaedria,  who  but  noAv,  you  said. 

Assisted  me  so  heartily? — No — Rather 

Let  us,  since  there  is  need,  return  his  kindness ! 

Geta.  It  is  but  just,  I must  confess. 

Ant.  Come  then ; 

’Tis  you  alone  can  save  him. 

Geta.  By  what  means? 

Ant.  Procure  the  money. 

Geta.  Willingly:  but  whence? 

Ant.  My  father  is  arriv’d. 

Geta.  He  is  : what  then  ? 

Ant.  a word  to  the  wise,  Geta ! 

Geta.  Say  you  so  ? 

Ant.  Ev’n  so.  » 

Geta.-  By  Hercules,  ’tis  rare  advice. 

Are  you  there  with  me?  will  it  not  be  triumph, 

So  I but  ’scape  a scouring  for  your  match, 

That  you  must  urge  me  to  run  risks  for  him? 

Ant.  He  speaks  the  truth,  I must  confess. 

PHiED.  How’s  that  ? 

Am  I a stranger  to  you,  Geta? 

Geta.  No: 

Nor  do  I hold  you  such.  But  is  it  nothing 
That  the  old  man  now  rages  at  us  all, 

Unless  we  irritate  him  so  much  further 
As  to  preclude  all  hopes  to  pacify  him? 

PHiED.  Shall  then  another  bear  her  hence?  Ah  me! 
Now  then,  while  I remain,  speak  to  me,  Antiplio. 

Behold  me ! 


Act  III.,  Sc.  T.] 


PIIORMIO. 


589 


Ant.  Wherefore?  what  is  it  you  mean? 

Ph/ED.  Whercvpr  she’s  convey’d,  I’ll  follow  her; 

Or  perish. 

Geta.  Heaven  prosper  your  designs ! — 

Gently,  Sir,  gently ! 

Ant.  See  if  you  can  help  him. 

Geta.  Help  him!  but  how? 

Ant.  Nay,  think,  invent,  devise; 

Lest  he  do  something  we  repent  of,  Geta! 

Geta.  I’m  thinking.  {Pausing.') — Well  then  I believe,  he’s 
safe. 

But  I’m  afraid  of  mischief. 

Ant.  Never  fear: 

We’ll  bear  all  good  and  evil  fortune  with  you. 

Geta.  Tell  me  the  sum  you  have  occasion  for. 

Ph^d.  But  thirty  minas. 

Geta.  Thirty ! monstrous,  Phaedria ! 

She’s  very  dear. 

Ph^ed.  Dog-cheap. 

Geta.  Well,  say  no  more. 

I’ll  get"  them  for  you. 

Pnji:D.  O brave  fellow! 

Geta.  Hence ! 

Ph^d.  But  I shall  want  it  now. 

Geta.  You’ll  have  it  now. 

But  Phormio  must  assist  me  in  this  business. 

Ant.  He’s  ready : lay  what  load  you  will  upon  him. 

He’ll  bear  it  all ; for  he’s  a friend  indeed. 

Geta.  Let’s  to  him  quickly  then ! 

Ant.  D’ye  want  my  help? 

Geta.  We’ve  no  occasion  for  you.  Get  you  home 
To  the  poor  girl,  who’s  almost  dead  with  fear ; 

And  see  you  comfort  her. — Away!  d’ye  loiter? 

Ant.  There’s  nothing  I would  do  so  willingly.  {Exit. 
Ph^d.  But  how  will  you  effect  this? 

Geta.  I’ll  explain 

That  matter  as  we  go  along. — Away!  {Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  THIRD. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Demipho  and  Chremes. 

Dem.  Well,  Chremes,  have  you  brought  your  daughter  with 
you. 

On  whose  account  you  went  to  Lemnos  ? 

Chrem.  No. 

Dem.  Why  not  ? 


590 


PHORMIO. 


[Act  III. 


CiiKEM.  It  seems  the  mother,  grow.i  impatient, 

Perceiving  that  I tarried  here  so  long, 

And  that  the  girl's  age  brook’d  not  my  delays. 

Had  journeyed  here,  they  said,  in  search  of  me. 

With  her  whole  family. 

Dem.  Appris’d  of  this. 

What  kept  you  there  so  long  then  ? 

Chrem.  a disease. 

Dem.  How  came  it  ? what  disease  ? 

Chrem.  Is  that  a question? 

Old  age  itself  is  a disease. — However, 

The  master  of  the  ship,  who  brought  them  over, 

Inform’d  me  of  their  safe  arrival  higher. 

Dem.  Have  you  heard,  Chrcmcs,  of  my  son’s  misfortune 
During  my  absence? 

Chrem.  Aye  ; and  it  confounds  me. 

For  to  another  should  I tender  her, 

I must  relate  the  girl’s  whole  history, 

And  whence  arises  my  connection  with  her. 

You  I can  trust  as  safely  as  myself : 

But  if  a stranger  courts  alliance  with  me, 

While  M^e’re  new  friends,  he’ll  hold  his  peace  ])erhaps. 

But  if  he  cools,  he’ll  know  too  much  of  me. 

Then  I’m  afraid  my  wife  should  know  of  this ; 

Which  if  she  does,  I’ve  nothing  else  to  do 
But  shake  myself,  and  leave  my  house  directly  : 

For  I’ve  no  friend  at  home  except  myself. 

Dem.  I know  it ; and  ’tis  that  which  touches  me. 

Nor  are  there  any  means  I’ll  leave  untried, 

Till  I have  made  my  promise  to  you  good. 

Scene  II. 

Enter ^ at  another  part  of  the  stage^  Geta. 

Geta  (to  himself).  I never  saw  a more  shrewd  rogue  than 
Phormio. 

I came  to  let  him  know  we  wanted  money, 

With  my  advice  for  getting  it;  and  scarce 
Had  I related  half,  but  he  conceiv’d  me. 

He  was  o’erjoy’d ; commended  me ; demanded 
To  meet  with  Demipho ; and  thank’d  tlie  gods 
That  it  was  now  the  time  to  show  himself 
As  truly  Phsedria’s  friend  as  Antipho’s. 

I bade  him  wait  us  at  the  Forum ; whither 
I’d  bring  th’  old  gentleman. — And  there  he  is ! 

— But  who’s  the  furthermost  ? Ha ! Phaedria’s  father. 

— Yet  what  was  I afraid  of,  simpleton  ? 

That  I have  got  two  dupes  instead  of  one  ? 

Is  it  not  better  that  my  hopes  are  doubled? 

— I’ll  attack  him,  I first  propos’d.  If  he 


Sc.  III.] 


PHORxMIO. 


591 


Answers  my  expectation,  well:  if  not, 

Why  then  liave  at  you,  uncle ! 

Scene  III. 

Enter  behind,  Antipho. 

Ant.  (Jo  himself).  I expect 
Geta’s  arrival  presently. — But  see! 

Yonder’s  my  uncle  mth  my  father. — Ah  ! 

How  do  I dread  his  influence ! 

Geta.  I’ll  to  them. 

Oh,  p^ood  Sir  Chremes!  {Going  up.) 

Chrem.  Save  you,  save  you,  Geta ! 

Geta.  I’m  glad  to  see  you  safe  arriv’d. 

Chrem.  I thank  you. 

Geta.  How  go  affairs  ? 

Chrem.  a world  of  changes  here. 

As  usual  at  first  coming  home  again. 

Geta.  True.  Have  you  heard  of  Antipho's  affair? 

CiiREM.  The  whole. 

Geta  (to  Demipho).  Did  you  inform  him.  Sir? — ’Tis  mon- 
strous, Chremes, 

To  be  so  shamefully  impos’d  upon ! 

Dem.  ’Twas  on  that  point  I was  just  talking  with  him. 
Geta.  And  I too,  having  turn’d  it  in  my  thoughts. 

Have  found,  I think,  a remedy. 

Dem.  How,  Geta? 

What  remedy? 

Geta.  On  leaving  you,  by  chance 
I met  with  Phormio. 

CiiREM.  Who  is  Phormio? 

Geta.  The  girl’s  solicitor. 

Chrem.  I understand. 

Geta.  I thought  within  myself,  “ suppose  I found  him !” 
And  taking  him  aside,  “Now  prithee,  Phormio, 

Why  don’t  you  try  to  settle  this  affair 
By  fair  means  rather  than  by  foul?”  said  I. 

“ My  master  is  a generous  gentleman. 

And  hates  to  go  to  law.  Por  I assure  you 
His  other  friends  advis’d  him,  to  a man, 

To  turn  this  girl  directly  out  o’  doors.” 

Ant.  (behind).  What  does  he  mean?  or  where  will  all  this 
end  ? 

Geta.  “The  law,  you  think,  will  give  you  damages 
If  he  attempts  to  turn  her  out. — Alas! 

He  has  good  counsel  upon  that. — I’  faith, 

Yop’ll  have  hot  work  if  you  engage  with  him ; 

He’s  such  an  orator ! — But  ev’n  suppose 
"^hat  you  should  gain  your  lawsuit,  after  all 
ihe  trial  is  not  for  his  life,  but  money.” 


PHORMIO. 


[Act  III. 


Perceiving  him  a little  wrought  upon, 

And  soften’d  by  this  style  of  talking  with  him, 

“ Come  now,”  continued  I,  “ we’re  all  alone. 

Tell  me,  what  money  would  you  take  in  hand 
To  drop  your  lawsuit,  take  away  the  girl, 

And  trouble  us  no  farther!” 

Ant.  {behind).  Is  he  mad? 

Geta.  —“For  I am  well  convinc’d,  that  if  your  terms 
Are  not  extravagant  and  wild  indeed. 

My  master’s  such  a worthy  gentleman. 

You  will  not  change  three  words  between  you.” 

Dem.  Who 

Commission’d  you  to  say  all  this? 

Chrem.  Nay,  'nay. 

Nothing  could  be  more  haj^py  to  effect 
The  point  we  labor  at. 

Ant.  {behind).  Undone! 

Chrem.  {to  Geta).  Go  on. 

Geta.  At  first  he  rav’d. 

Dem.  Why,  what  did  he  demand  ? 

Geta.  Too  much : as  much  as  came  into  his  head. 
Chrem.  Well,  but  the  sum? 

Geta.  He  talk’d  of  a great  talent. 

Dem.  Plague  on  the  rascal!  what!  has  he  no  shame? 
Geta.  The  very  thing  I said  to  him. — “ Suppose 
He  was  to  portion  out  an  only  daughter, 

What  could  he  give  her  more  ? — He  profits  little. 

Having  no  daughter  of  his  own;  since  one 
Is  found  to  carry  off  a fortune  from  him.” 

— But  to  be  brief,  and  not  to  dwell  upon 

All  his  impertinences,  he  at  last 

Gave  me  this  final  answer. — “From  the  first, 

I wish’d,”  said  he,  “ as  was  indeed  most  fit. 

To  wed  the  daughter  of  my  friend  myself. 

For  I was  well  aware  of  her  misfortune ; 

That,  being  poor,  she  would  be  rather  given 
In  slavery,  than  wedlock,  to  the  rich. 

But  I was  forc’d,  to  tell  you  the  plain  truth. 

To  take  a woman  with  some  little  fortune. 

To  pay  my  debts : and  still,  if  Demipho 
Is  willing  to  advance  as  large  a sum 
As  I’m  to  have  with  one  I’m  now  engag'd  to. 

There  is  no  wife  I’d  rather  take  than  her.” 

Ant.  (behind).  Whether  through  malice  or  stupidity, 

He  is  rank  knave  or  fool,  I can  not  tell. 

Dem.  (to  Geta).  What,  if  he  owes  his  soul? 

Geta.  “I  have  a farm,” 

Continued  he,  “that’s  mortgag’d  for  ten  minae.” 

Dem.  Well,  let  him  take  her  then : I’ll  pay  the  money. 
Geta.  “A  house  for  ten  more.” 

Dem.  Huy ! buy ! that’s  too  much. 


Sc.  IV.] 


PHORMIO. 


593 


CiiREM.  No  noise ! demand  those  ten  of  me. 

Get  A.  “ My  wife 

Must  buy  a maid ; some  little  furniture 
Is  also  requisite ; and  some  expense 
To  keep  our  wedding:  all  these  articles,” 

Continues  he,  “we’ll  reckon  at  ten  minae.” 

Dem.  No  ; let  him  bring  a thousand  writs  againsst  me. 

I’ll  give  him  nothing.  What!  afford  the  villain  ^ 

An  opportunity  to  laugh  at  me? 

Chrem.  Nay,  but  be  pacified!  I’ll  pay  the  money. 

Only  do  you  prevail  upon  your  son 
To  marry  her  whom  w^e  desire. 

Ant.  (behind).  Ah  me! 

Geta,  your  treachery  has  ruin’d  me. 

Chre]m.  She’s  put  away  on  my  account:  ’tis  jttst 
That  I should  pay  the  money. 

Geta.  “Let  me  know,” 

Continues  he,*^  “ as  soon  as  possible. 

Whether  they  mean  to  have  me  marry  her; 

That  I may  part  with  t’other,  and  be  certain. 

For  t’other  girl’s  relations  have  agreed 
To  pay  the  portion  down  immediately.” 

Chrem.  He  shall  be  paid  this  too  immediately. 

Let  him  break  off  with  her,  and  take  this  girl ! 

Dem.  Aye,  and  the  plague  go  with  him ! 

Chrem.  Luckily 

It  happens  I’ve  some  money  here ; the  rents 

Of  my  wife’s  farms  at  Lemnos.  I’ll  take  that ; (to  Demipho^ 

And  tell  my  wife  that  you  had  need  of  it,  (Exeunt, 

Scene  IV. 

Manent  Antipho,  Geta. 

Ant.  (coming  foricarcV).  Geta ! 

Geta.  Ha,  Antipho! 

Ant.  What  have  you  done! 

Geta.  Trick’d  the  old  bubbles  of  their  money. 

Ant.  Well, 

Is  that  sufficient,  think  ye? 

Geta.  I can’t  tell. 

’Twas  all  my  orders. 

Ant.  Knave,  d’ye  shuffle  with  me  ? (Kicks  him.) 

Geta.  Plague  I what  d’ye  mean  ? 

Ant.  What  do  I mean.  Sirrah ! 

You’ve  driven  me  to  absolute  perdition. 

All  pow’rs  of  heav’n  and  hell  confound  you  for’t, 

And  make  you  an  example  to  all  villains ! 

— Here ! would  you  have  your  business  duly  manag’d, 

Commit  it  to  this  fellow ! — What  could  be 
More  tender  than  to  touch  upon  this  sore, 


04 


PHORMIO. 


[Act  hi. 


Or  cvt-ii  iiiiinc  my  wife?  my  father’s  fill’d 

With  hopes  that  she  may  be  dismiss’d. — And  then, 

If  Phormio  gets  the  money  for  the  portion, 

He,  to  be  sure,  must  marry  her. — And  what 
Becomes  of  me  then  ? 

Geta.  He’ll  not  marry  her. 

Ant.  Oh,  no : but  when  they  redemand  the  money, 

On  my  account  he’ll  rather  go  to  jail ! {Ironically.') 

Geta.  Many  a tale  is  spoiled  in  telling,  Antipho. 

You  take  out  all  the  good,  and  leave  the  bad. 

— Now  hear  the  other  side — If  he  receives 
The  money,  he  must  wed  the  girl:  I grant  it. 

But  then  some  little  time  must  be  allow’d 
For  wedding-preparation,  invitation. 

And  sacrifices. — Meanwhile,  Fhaidria’s  friends 
Advance  the  money  they  have  promis’d  him: 

Which  Phormio  shall  make  use  of  for  repayment. 

Ant.  How  so  ? what  reason  can  he  give  ? 

Geta.  What  reason  ? 

A thousand. — “Since  I made  this  fiital  bargain. 

Omens  and  prodigies  have  happen’d  to  me. 

There  came  a strange  black  dog  into  my  house ! 

A snake  fell  through  the  tiling ! a hen  crow’d  I 
The  Soothsayer  forbade  it ! The  Diviner 
Charg’d  me  to  enter  on  no  new  afiair 
Before  the  winter.” — All  sufficient  reasons. 

Thus  it  shall  be. 

Ant.  Pray  Heav’n  it  may  be! 

Geta.  It  shall. 

Depend  on  me: — But  here’s  your  father. — Go; 

Tell  Plandria  that  the  money’s  safe.  {Exit  Antipho. 


Scene  Y. 

Re-enter  Demipiio  euul  Chre:\ies. 
Dem.  Nay,  peace  I 

I’ll  warrant  he  shall  play  no  tricks  upon  us : 
I’ll  not  part  rashly  with  it,  I assure  you  ; 

But  pay  it  before  witnesses,  reciting 
To  whom  ’tis  paid,  and  why  ’tis  j)aid. 

Geta.  How  cautious, 

Where  there  is  no  occasion  I {Aside.) 

Chrem.  You  had  need. 

But  haste,  dispatch  it  while  the  fit’s  upon  liim : 
For  if  the  other  party  should  be  pressing. 
Perhaps  he’ll  break  with  us. 

Geta.  You’ve  hit  it.  Sir. 

Dem.  Carry  me  to  him  then. 

Geta.  I wait  your  pleasure. 


Sc.  VI.] 


PHORMIO. 


.595 


CiiREM.  {Lo  Demipiio).  Wlieii  this  is  done,  step  over  to  my 
wife, 

Tliat  she  may  see  tlie  ^irl  before  she  goes ; 

And  tell  her,  to  prevent  her  being  angry, 

‘‘That  we’ve  agreed  to  marry  her  to  Phormio, 

Her  old  acquaintance,  and  a fitter  match ; 

That  we  have  not  been  wanting  in  our  duty, 

But  giv’n  as  large  a portion  as  he  ask’d.” 

Dem.  Pshaw!  what’s  all  this  to  you? 

CiiREM.  A great  deal,  brother. 

Dem.  Is’t  not  sufficient  to  liaA'e  done  your  duty, 

Unless  the  world  approves  it? 

Chrem.  I would  choose 
To  have  the  whole  thing  done  by  her  consent. 

Lest  she  pretend  she  was  turn’d  out  o’  doors. 

Dem.  Well,  I can  say  all  this  to  her  myself. 

Chrem.  A woman  deals  much  better  with  a woman. 

Dem.  Ill  ask  your  wife  to  do  it  then. 

{Exeunt  Demipiio  and  Geta. 

Chrem.  I’m  thinking 
Where  I shall  find  these  women  now. 

Scene  YI. 

Enter  Sopiirona  at  a distance. 

Soph,  {to  herself).  Alas ! 

What  shall  I do,  unhappy  as  I am? 

Where  find  a friend  ? to  whom  disclose  this  story  ? 

Of  whom  beseech  assistance? — Por  I fear 

My  mistress  will  sustain  some  injury 

From  following  my  counsel:  the  youth’s  father, 

I hear,  is  so  offended  at  this  marriage. 

Chrem.  Who’s  this  old  woman,  coming  from  my  brother’s, 
That  seems  so  terrified? 

Soph,  {to  herself).  ’Twas  poverty 
Compell’d  me  to  this  action : though  I knew 
This  match  would  hardly  hold  together  long. 

Yet  I advis’d  her  to  it,  that  meanwhile 
She  might  not  want  subsistence. 

Chrem.  Surely,  surely. 

Either  my  mind  deceives  me,  or  my  eyes  fail  m.e, 

. Or  that’s  my  daughter’s  nurse. 

Soph.  Nor  can  we  find 

Chrem.  What  shall  I do? 

Soph.  — Her  father  out. 

Chrem.  Were’t  best 
I should  go  up  to  her,  or  wait  a little. 

To  gather  something  more  from  her  discourse? 

Soph.  Could  he  be  found,  my  fears  were  at  an  end. 
CiiPji:M.  ’Tis  she.  I’ll  speak  with  her. 


59G 


PIIOKMIO. 


[Act  III.,  Sc.  VI. 


Soph,  {overhearing).  Whose  voice  is  that? 

Chrem.  Sophrona! 

Soph.  Ha!  my  name  too? 

Chrem.  Look  this  way. 

Soph,  (^turning').  Good  Heav’n  have  mercy  on  us!  Stilpho! 
Chrem.  No. 

Soph.  Deny  your  own  name? 

Chrem.  {in  a low  voice).  This  way,  Sophrona  ! 

— A little  further  from  that  door! — this  way! — 

And  never  call  me  by  that  name,  I charge  you. 

Soph.  What,  ar’n’t  you  then  the  man  you  said  you  was  ? 

{Aloud.) 

Chrem.  Hist!  hist! 

Soph.  What  makes  you  fear  those  doors  so  much  ? 
Chrem.  I have  a fury  of  a wife  within : 

And  formerly  I went  by  that  false  name, 

Lest  she  should  indiscreetly  blab  it  out. 

And  so  my  wife  might  come  to  hear  of  this. 

Soph.  Ah  ! thus  it  was,  that  we,  alas ! poor  souls, 

Could  never  find  you  out  herfe.  . 

Chrem.  Well,  but  tell  me. 

What  business  have  you  witli  that  family?  {Pointing.) 

— Where  is  your  mistress  and  her  daughter? 

Soph.  Ahl 

Chrem.  What  now?  are  they  alive? 

Soph.  The  daughter  is : 

The  mother  broke  her  heart  with  grief. 

Chrem.  Alas ! 

Soph.  And  I a poor,  unknown,  distress’d  old  woman, 
Endeavoring  to  manage  for  the  best. 

Contriv’d  to  match  the  virgin  to  a youth, 

Son  to  the  master  of  this  house. 

Chrem.  To  Antipho? 

Soph.  The  very  same. 

Chrem.  What ! has  ho  two  wives  then  ? 

Soph.  No,  mercy  on  us ! he  has  none  but  her. 

Chrem.  What  is  the  other  then,  who,  they  pretend, 

Is  a relation  to  him  ? 

Soph.  This  is  she. 

Chrem.  How  sa}^  you? 

Soph.  It  was  all  a mere  contrivance.: 

That  he,  who  was  in  love,  might  marry  her 
Without  a portion. 

Chrem.  O ye  powers  of  heav’n. 

How  often  fortune  blindly  brings  about 

More  than  we  dare  to  hope  for!  Coming  home, 

I’ve  found  my  daughter,  even  to  my  wish. 

Match’d  to  the  very  person  I desir’d. 

What  we  have  both  been  laboring  to  effect, 

Has  this  poor  woman  all  alone  accomplish’d. 

Soph.  But  now  consider  what  is  to  be  done ! 


Act  IV.,  Sc.  IL] 


PIIOKMIO. 


597 


The  bridegroom’s  father  is  return’d ; and  he, 

They  say,  is  much  offended  at  this  marriage. 

Chrem.  Be  of  good  comfort:  there’s  no  danger  there. 
But,  in  the  name  of  heav’n  and  earth,  I charge  you, 

Let  nobody  discover  she’s  my  daughter. 

Soph.  None  shall  discover  it  from  me. 

Chrem.  Come  then! 

Follow  me  in,  and  you  shall  hear  the  rest.  {Exeunt, 


ACT  THE  FOURTH. 

Scene  I. 

Demipho,  Geta. 

Dem.  ’Tis  our  own  fault  that  we  encourage  rogues, 

By  overstraining  the  due  character 
Of  honesty  and  generosity. 

“ Shoot  not  beyond  the  mark,”  the  proverb  goes. 

Was’t  not  enough  that  he  had  done  us  wrong, 

But  we  must  also  throw  liim  money  too. 

To  live  till  he  devises  some  new  mischief? 

Geta.  Very  right! 

Dem.  Knavery’s  now  its  own  reward. 

Geta.  Very  true! 

Dem.  How  like  fools  have  we  behav’d ! 

Geta.  So  as  he  keeps  his  word,  and  takes  the  girl, 

’Tis  well  enough. 

Dem.  Is  that  a doubt  at  present? 

Geta.  A man,  you  know,  may  change  his  mind. 

Dem.  How!  change? 

Geta.  That  I can’t  tell;  but,  if  perhaps,  I say. 

Dem.  I’ll  now  perform  my  promise  to  my  brother. 

And  bring  his  wife  to  talk  to  the  young  woman. 

You,  Geta,  go  before,  and  let  her  know 

Nausistrata  will  come  and  speak  with  her.  {Exit  Demipho. 

Scene  II. 

Geta  alone. 

The  money’s  got  for  Phffidria : all  is  hush’d : 

And  Plianium  is  not  to  depart  as  yet. 

What  more  then?  where  will  all  this  end  at  last? 

— Alas!  you’re  sticking  in  the  same  mire  still: 

You’ve  only  chang’d  hands,  Geta.  The  disaster 
That  hung  but  now  directly  over  you, 

Delay  perhaps  will  bring  more  heavy  on  you. 

You’re  quite  beset,  unless  you  look  about. 


98 


rilORMIO. 


[Act  IV. 


— then  I’ll  home ; to  lesson  Phanium, 

That  she  mayn’t  stand  in  fear  of  Phormio, 

Nor  dread  this  conf’rence  with  Nausistrata.  (^Exit, 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Demipiio  <m  I Nausistrata. 

Dem.  Come  then,  Nausistrata,  afford  us  now 
A little  of  your  usual  art,  and  try 
To  put  this  woman  in  good  humor  with  us  ; 

That  what  is  done  she  may  do  willingly. 

Naus.  I will. 

Dem.  And  now  assist  us  with  your  counsel, 

As  with  your  cash  a little  while  ago. 

Naus.  With  all  my  heart:  and  I am  only  sorry 
That  ’tis  my  husband’s  fault  I can’t  do  more. 

Dem.  How  so? 

Naus.  Because  he  takes  sucli  little  care 
Of  the  estate  my  father  nurs’d  so  well: 

For  from  these  very  farms  he  never  fail’d 
To  draw  two  talents  by  the  year.  But  ah  I 
What  difference  between  man  and  man! 

Dem.  Two  talents? 

Naus.  Aye — in  worse  times  than  these — and  yet  two  talents  ? 
Dem.  Huy! 

Naus.  What,  are  you  surpris’d? 

De3I.  Prodigiously. 

Naus.  Would  I had  been  a man ! I’d  show 

Dem.  No  doubt. 

Naus.  — By  what  means 

Dem.  Nay,  but  spare  yourself  a little 
For  the  encounter  with  the  girl : lest  she, 

Flippant  and  young,  may  weary  you  too  much. 

Naus.  — Well,  I’ll  obey  your  orders:  but  I sec 
My  husband  coming  forth. 

Scene  IV. 

Enter  Ciiremes,  hastily. 

Chrem.  Ha ! 

Has  Phormio  had  the  money  yet? 

Dem.  I paid  him 
Immediately. 

Chrem.  I’m  sorry  for’t. — (^Seeing  Nausistrata.) — My  wife! 
I’d  almost  said  too  much.  {Aside.) 

Dem.  Why  sorry,  Chremes? 

Chrem.  Nothing. — No  matter. 

Dem.  Well,  but  hark  ye,  Chremes! 

Have  you  been  talking  with  the  girl,  and  told  her 
Wherefore  we  bring  your  v/ife? 


Sc.  IV.J 


rilOKMIO. 


^99 


Ciiiii::.!.  I’ve  settled  it. 
y Dem.  Well,  and  what  says  she  ? 

Chrem.  ’Tis  impossible 
To  send  her  hence. 

Dem.  And  why  impossible  ? 

Chrem.  Because  they  are  both  so  fond  of  one  anothet- 
Dem.  What’s  that  to  us  ? 

Chrem.  A great  deal.  And  besides, 

I have  discover’d  she’s  related  to  us. 

Dem.  Have  you  your  wits? 

Chrem.  ’Tis  so.  I’m  very  serious. 

— ^Nay,  recollect  a little! 

Dem.  Are  you  mad? 

Naus.  Good  now,  beware  of  wronging  a relation ! 

Dem.  She’s  no  relation  to  us. 

Chrem.  Don’t  deny  it. 

Her  father  had  assum’d  another  name. 

And  that  deceiv’d  you. 

Dem.  What!  not  know  her  father? 

Chrem.  Perfectly. 

Dem.  Why  did  she  misname  him  then? 

Chrem.  Won’t  you  be  rul'd,  nor  understand  me  then? 
Dem.  What  can  I understand  from  nothing? 

Chrem.  Still?  {Impatiently.^ 

Naus.  I can’t  imagine  what  this  means. 

Dem.  Nor  I. 

Chrem.  Would  you  know  all? — Why  then,  so  help  me 
Heaven, 

She  has  no  nearer  kindred  in  the  world 
Than  you  and  I. 

Dem.  Oh,  all  ye  powers  of  heaven ! 

— Let  us  go  to  her  then  immediately : 

I would  fain  know,  or  not  .know,  all  at  once.  {Going.') 
Chrem.  Ah  ! {Stojrping  him.) 

Dem.  What’s  the  matter? 

Chrem.  Can’t  you  trust  me  then? 

Dem.  Must  I believe  it?  take  it  upon  trust? 

— Well,  be  it  sol — But  what  is  to  be  done 
With  our  friend’s  daughter? 

Chrem.  Nothing. 

Dem.  Drop  her? 

Chrem.  Aye. 

Dem.  And  keep  this  ? 

Chrem.  Aye. 

Dem.  Why  then,  Nausistrata, 

You  may  return.  We  need  not  trouble  you. 

Naus.  Indeed,  I think,  ’tis  better  on  all  sides. 

That  you  should  keep  her  here,  than  send  her  hence. 

For  she  appear’d  to  me,  when  first  I saw  her. 

Much  of  a geuticvvoman.  {Exit  Nausistrata. 


600 


PHOKMIO. 


[Act  IV. 


Scene  Y. 

Manent  Demipho  and  Chrebies. 

Dem.  What  means  this? 

Chrem.  {looking  after Is  the  door  shut? 
Dem.  It  is. 

Chrem.  O J upiter ! 

The  Gods  take  care  of  us.  I’ve  found  my  daughter 
Married  to  your  son. 

Dem.  Ha!  how  could  it  be? 

Chrem.  It  is  not  safe  to  tell  you  here. 

Dem.  Step  in  then. 

Chrem.  But  hark  ye,  Demipho! — I would  not  have 
Even  our  very  sons  inform’d  of  this.  {Iixeunt, 

Scene  VI. 

Antipho  alone, 

I’m  glad,  however  my  affairs  proceed, 

That  Phsedria’s  have  succeeded  to  his  mind. 

How  wise  to  foster  such  desires  alone. 

As,  although  cross’d,  are  easily  supplied! 

Money,  once  found,  sets  Phsedria  at  his  ease ; 

But  my  distress  admits  no  remedy. 

For,  if  the  secret’s  kept,  I live  in  fear ; 

And  if  reveal’d,  I am  expos’d  to  shame. 

Nor  would  I now  return,  but  in  the  hope 
Of  still  possessing  her. — But  where  is  Geta? 

That  I may  learn  of  him  the  fittest  time 
To  meet  my  father. 

Scene  YH. 

Enter,,  at  a distance,  Phormio. 

Phor.  {to  himself),  I’ve  receiv’d  the  money ; 

Paid  the  procurer ; carried  off  the  wench ; 

Who’s  free,  and  now  in  Phsedria's  possession. 

One  thing  alone  remains  to  be  dispatch’d; 

To  get  a respite  from  th’  old  gentlemen 
To  tipple  some  few  days,  which  I must  spend 
In  mirth  and  jollity. 

Ant.  But  yonder’s  Phormio. — (^Goes  vj).) 

What  now? 

Phor.  Of  what? 

Ant.  What’s  Phsedria  about? 

How  does  he  mean  to  take  his  fill  of  love  ? 

Phor.  By  acting  your  part  in  his  turn. 


VIII.] 


PHORMIO. 


601 


Ant.  What  part? 

Phor.  Flying  his  father’s  presence. — And  he  begs 
That  you’d  act  his,  and  make  excuses  for  him  ; 

For  he  intends  a drinking-bout  with  me. 

I shall  pretend  to  the  old  gentlemen 
That  I am  going  to  the  fair  at  Suniurn, 

To  buy  the  servant-maid  that  Geta  mention’d : 

Lest,  finding  I am  absent,  they  suspect 
That  I am  squandering  the  sum  they  paid  me. 

— But  3"our  door  opens. 

Ant.  Who  comes  here? 

Piion.  ’Tis  Geta. 


Scene  VUI. 

Enter  Jiastlly,  at  another  part  of  the  stage^  Geta. 

Geta.  O fortune,  O best  fortune,  what  high  blessings, 
What  sudden,  great,  and  unexpected  joys 
Hast  thou  shower’d  down  on  Antipho  to-day! — 

Ant.  What  can  this  be  he’s  so  rejoic’d  about? 

Geta.  — And  from  wdiat  fears  deliver’d  us,  his  friends? 
— But  wherefore  do  I loiter  thus?  and  why 
Do  I not  throw  my  cloak  upon  my  shoulder. 

And  haste  to  find  him  out,  that  he  may  know 
All  that  has  happen’d? 

Ant.  {to  Phormio).  Do  you  comprehend 
What  he  is  talking  of? 

Piior.  Do  3'ou? 

Ant.  Not  L 

Phor.  Pm  just  as  wise  as  you. 

Geta.  I’ll  hurry  hence 

To  the  procurer’s. — I shall  find  them  there.  {Going.) 

Ant.  Ho,  Geta!  # 

Geta.  Look  ye  there ! — Is’t  new  or  strange, 

To  be  recall’d  when  one’s  in  haste?  {Going.) 

Ant.  Here,  Geta! 

Geta.  Again?  bawl  on!  I’ll  ne’er  stop.  {Going  on.) 
Ant.  Stay,  I say! 

Geta.  Go,  and  be  drubb’d! 

Ant.  You  shall,  I promise  you. 

Unless  you  stop,  you  rascal ! 

Geta  {stopping).  Hold,  hold,  Geta! 

Some  intimate  acquaintance  this,  be  sure, 

Being  so  free  with  you. — But  is  it  he 
That  I am  looking  for,  or  not? — ^’Tis  he. 

Phor.  Go  up  immediately.  ( They  go  up  to  Geta.) 

Ant.  {to  Geta).  What  means  all  this? 

Geta.  O happy  man ! the  happiest  man  on  earth ! 

So  very  happy,  that,  beyond  all  doubt, 

Ycu  are  the  God’s  chief  fav’rite,  Antipho. 

Cc 


602 


PHORMIO. 


[Act  IV.,  Sc.  Vm. 


Ant.  Would  I were  I but  your  reason. 

Geta.  Is’t  enough 

To  plunge  you  over  head  and  ears  in  joy? 

Ant.  You  torture  me. 

PiioR.  No  promises!  but  tell  us 
What  is  your  news? 

Geta.  Oh,  Phormio ! are  you  here  ? 

PiiOR.  I am:  but  why  d’3^e  trifle? 

Geta.  Mind  me  then!  (To  Phormio.) 

No  sooner  had  we  paid  you  at  the  Forum, 

But  we  return’d  directly  liorhe  again. 

— Arriv’d,  my  master  sends  me  to  your  wife.  (To  Antifho.) 
Ant.  For  what? 

Geta.  No  matter  now,  good  Anti] -ho. 

I was  just  entering  the  women’s  lodging, 

When  up  runs  little  Mida  ; catches  me 
Hold  by  the  cloak  behind,  and  pulls  me  back. 

I turn  about,  and  ask  why  he  detains  me. 

Pie  told  me,  Nobody  must  see  his  mistress : 

For  Sophroha,”  says  he,  “has  just  now  brought 
Dcmipho’s  brother,  Chremes,  here ; and  he 
Is  talking  with  the  women  now  within.” 

— When  I heard  this,  I stole  immediately 
On  tip-toe  tow’rd  the  door ; came  close ; stood  hush ; 

Drew  in  my  breath;  applied  my  ear;  and  thus, 

Deep  in  attention,  catch’d  their  whole  discourse. 

Ant.  Excellent,  Geta ! 

Geta.  Here  I overheard 
The  pleasantest  adventure!  On  my  life, 

I scarce  refrain’d  from  crying  out  for  joy. 

Ant.  What? 

Geta.  What  d’ye  think  ? {Lcvughhvj.') 

Ant.  I can’t  tell. 

Geta.  Oh!  it  was  {laughing,') 

Most  wonderful! — most  exquisite! — your  uncle 
Is  found  to  be  the  father  of  your  wife. 

Ant.  How  ! what  ? 

Geta.  He  had  a sly  intrigue,  it  seems. 

With  Phanium’s  mother  formerly  at  Lemnos.  (^Laughing,') 
Phor.  Nonsense!  as  if  she  did  not  know  her  father! 
Geta.  Nay,  there’s  some  reason  for  it,  Phormio, 

You  may  be  sure. — But  was  it  possible 
PM!-  me,  who  stood  without,  to  comprehend 
p]ach  minute  circumstance  that  pass’d  within? 

Ant.  I have  heard  something  of  this  story  too. 

Geta.  Then,  Sir,  to  settle  3^0111*  belief  the  more. 

At  last  out  comes  your  uncle;  and  soon  after 
Returns  again,  and  carries  in  your  father. 

Then  they  both  said,  they  gave  their  full  consent 
That  you  should  keep  your  Phanium. — In  a word, 

I’m  sent  to  find  you  out,  and  bring  you  to  them. 


Act  V.,  Sc.  I.J 


rilOKMIO. 


GOi 


Ant.  Away  with  me  then  instantly!  D’ye  linger? 

Geta.  Not  I.  Away ! 

Ant.  My  Phormio,  fare  you  well! 

Phor.  Fare  you  well,  Antipho!  {Exeunt. 


Scene  IX. 


PnoRMio  alone. 

Well  done,  ’fore  Heaven  I 

I’m  overjoy’d  to  see  so  much  good  fortune 

Fallen  thus  unexpectedly  upon  them : 

I’ve  now  an  admirable  opportunity 
To  bubble  the  old  gentlemen,  and  ease 
Phsedria  of  all  his  cares  about  the  money; 

So  that  he  need  not  be  oblig’d  to  friends. 

For  this  same  money,  though  it  will  be  given. 

Will  yet  come  from  them  much  against  the  grain; 

But  I have  found  a way  to  force  them  to’t. 

— Now  then  I must  assume  a grander  air, 

And  put  another  face  upon  this  business. 

— I’ll  hence  a while  into  the  next  by-alley, 

And  pop  upon  them  as  they’re  coming  forth. 

— As  for  the  trip  I talk’d  of  to  the  fiiir, 

I sha’n’t  pretend  to  take  that  journey  now.  {Jixlt. 


ACT  THE  FIFTH. 

Scene  I. 

Enter  Deiuipho  and  CiiKEMES — and  soon  a/lu\  on  f other  side, 
Phormio. 

Dem.  Well  may  we  thank  the  gracious  Gods,  good  brother, 
That  all  things  have  succeeded  to  our  wish. 

— But  now  let’s  find  out  Phormio  with  all  speed, 

Before  he  throws  away  our  thirty  miiiie. 

Phor,  {pi'etpulim/  not  to  see  him). 

I’ll  go  and  see  if  Demipho’s  at  home, 

That  I may 

Dem.  (ineeting  him).  — We  Mere  coming  to  you,  Phormio. 
Phor.  On  the  old  score,  I v, 'arrant. 

Dem.  Aye. 

Phor.  I thought  so. 

— Why  should  you  go  to  me  ? — ridiculous  ! 

Was  you  afraid  I’d  break  my  contract  with  you  ? 

No,  no ! how  great  soe’er  my  poverty, 

I’ve  always  shovni  myself  a man  of  honor. 


riiOUMK). 


[Act  V. 


liOl 


CiiKEM.  11  US  not  she,  as  I said,  a liberal  air?  / . 

Dem.  She  lias.  Apart. 

Phor. — And  therefore  I was  coming,  Demipho, 

To  let  you  know  I’m  ready  to  receive 
My  wife  whene’er  you  please.  For  I postpon’d 
All  Other  business,  as  indeed  I ought, 

Soon  as  I found  ye  were  so  bent  on  this. 

Dem.  Aye,  but  my  brother  has  di.ssuaded  me 
From  going  any  farther  in  this  business. 

“For  how  will  people  talk  of  it?”  says  he: 

“At  first  you  might  have  done  it  handsomely; 

But  then  you’d  not  consent  to  it ; and  now, 

After  cohabitation  with  your  son. 

To  think  of  a divorce  is  infamous.” 

— In  short,  he  urg’d  almost  the  very  things 
That  you  so  lately  charg’d  me  with  yourself. 

Phor.  You  trifle  with  me,  gentlemen. 

Dem.  How  so? 

Phor.  How  so?  Because  I can  not  marry  t’other, 

With  whom  I told  you  I was  first  in  treaty. 

For  with  what  face  can  I return  to  her 
Whom  I have  held  in  such  contempt? 

Chrem.  Tell  him 

Antipho  does  not  care  to  part  with  her.  {Prompting  Demipho.) 

Dem.  And  my  son  too  don’t  care  to  ])art  with  her; 

— Step  to  the  Forum  then,  and  give  an  or.ler 
l^or  the  repayment  of  our  money,  Phormio. 

Phor.  What!  when  I’v;e  paid  it  to  my  creditors? 

Dem.  What’s  to  be  done  then? 

Phor.  Give  me  but  the  wife 
To  whom  you  have  betroth’d  me,  and  I’ll  wed  her. 

But  if  you’d  rather  she  should  stay  with  you, 

The  portion  stays  with  me,  good  Demipho, 

For  ’tis  not  just  I should  be  bubbled  by  you ; 

When,  to  retrieve  your  honor,  I’ve  refus’d 
Another  woman  with  an  equal  fortune. 

Dem.  a plague  upon  your  idle  vaj)oring. 

You  vagabond  ! — D’ye  fancy  we  don’t  lirow  you  ? 

Yon,  and  j’our  fine  proceedings  ? 

Phor.  You  provoke  me. 

Dem.  Why,  would  you  marry  her,  if  proffer’d  ? 

Phor.  Try  me. 

Dem.  What ! that  my  son  may  keep  her  privately 
At  your  house? — That  was  your  intention. 

Phor.  Ha! 

What  say  you.  Sir? 

Dem.  Give  me  my  money.  Sirrah  ! 

Phor.  Give  me  my  wife,  I say. 

Dem.  To  justice  with  him! 

Phor.  To  justice  ? Now,  by  Heaven,  gentlemen, 

If  you  continue  to  be  troublesome 


Sc.  I.] 


rilOKMIO. 


Dem.  What  will  you  do? 

Phor.  What  will  I do  ? Perhaps 
You  think  that  I can  only  patronize 
Girls  without  portion ; but  be  sure  of  this, 

I’ve  some  with  portions  too. 

Chrem.  What’s  that  to  us? 

Phor.  Nothing. — I know  a lady  ’‘ere  whose  husband 

Chrem.  Ha ! ( Carelessly.) 

Dem.  AVhat’s  the  matter? 

Phor.  — Had  another  wife 
At  Lemnos. 

Chrem.  (aside).  I’m  a dead  man. 

Phor.  — By  which  other 
He  had  a daughter;  whom  he  now  brings  up 
In  private. 

Chrem.  (aside).  Dead  and  buried. 

Phor.  This  I’il  tell  her.  {Going  toward  the  house.) 
Chrem.  Don’t,  I beseech  you ! 

Phor.  Oh ! are  you  the  man  ? 

Dem.  Death  ! how  insulting  I 

Chrem.  (to  Phormio).  AVe  discharge  you. 

Phor.  Nonsense! 

Chrem.  What  W'ould  3'ou  more?  The  money  you  have  got 
We  will  forgive  \mu. 

Phor.  Well ; I hear  you  now. 

— But  what  a plague  d’ye  mean  bv  fooling  thus, 

Acting  and  talking  like  mere  children  with  me  ? 

‘—I  won’t ; I will : I will ; I won’t  again  : — 

Give,  take ; sa}',  unsay ; do,  and  then  undo. 

Chrem.  (to  Demipho).  AVhich  w’ay  could  he  have  learn ’d 
this?  ' 

Dem.  I don’t  know'  . 

But  1 am  sure  I never  mention’d  it. 

Chrem.  Good  nowG  amazing! 

Phor.  I have  ruffled  them.  (Aside.) 

Dem.  AVhat  I shall  he  carry  otf  so  large  a sum, 

And  laugh  at  us  so  openly?- — By  Heaven, 

I’d  rather  die. — Be  of  good  courage,  brother ! 

Pluck  up  the  spirit  of  a man!  You  see 
This  slip  of  3'ours  is  got  abroad;  nor  can  you 
Keep  it  a secret  from  3^our  wdfe.  Now',  therefore, 

’Tis  more  conducive  to  your  peace,  good  Chremes, 

That  w'e  should  fairly  tell  it  her  ourselves. 

Than  she  should  hear  the  story  from  another. 

And  then  we  shall  be  quite  at  liberty 
To  take  our  own  revenge  upon  this  rascal. 

Phor.  Ha! — If  I don’t  take  care  I’m  ruin’d  still. 

They’re  growing  desperate,  and  making  tow^’rd  me 
With  a determin’d  gladiatorial  air. 

Chrem.  {to  Demipho).  I fear  she’ll  ne'er  forgive  me. 

Dem.  Courage,  Chreme- ! 


FHORMIO. 


[Act  Y. 


(>0'J 


ril  reconcile  her  to’t ; especially 
The  mother  being  dead  and  gone. 

Phor.  Is  this 

Your  dealing,  gentlemen  ? You  come  upon  me 
Extremely  cunningly. — But,  Demipho, 

You  have  but  ill  consulted  for  your  brother, 

To  urge  me  to  extremities. — And  you,  Sir  {to  Chremes), 
When  you  have  play’d  the  whoremaster  abroad ; 

Having  no  reverence  for  your  lady  here, 

A woman  of  condition  ; wronging  her 

After  the  grossest  manner;  come  you  now 

To  v.ash  away  your  crimes  with  mean  submission? 

No. — I will  kindle  such  a flame  in  her. 

As.  though  you  melt  in  tears,  you  sha’n’t  extinguish. 

Dem.  A plague  upon  him ! was  there  ever  man 
So  very  impudent  ? — A knave ! he  ought 
To  be  transported  at  the  public  charge 
Into  some  desert. 

Chrem.  I am  so  confounded, 

I know  not  v/hat  to  do  with  him. 

Dem.  I know. 

Bring  him  before  a judge! 

Phor.  Before  a judge? 

A lady-judge;  in  here.  Sirs,  if  you  please. 

Dem.  Bun  you  and  hold  him,  while  I call  her  servants. 
Chrem.  I can  not  by  myself ; come  up  and  help  me. 

Phor.  I have  an  action  of  assault  against  you.  ( To  Demipho.) 
Chrem.  Bring  it! 

Phor.  Another  against  you  too,  Chremes! 

De:\i.  Drag  him  away  ! {Both  lay  hold  of  him.) 

Phor.  {struggling).  Is  that  your  way  with  me! 

Then  I must  raise  my  voice. — Nausistrata ! 

Come  hither. 

Chrem.  Stop  his  mouth! 

Dem.  {struggling).  A sturdy  rogue  ! 

How  strong  he  is! 

Phor.  {struggling).  Nausistrata,  I say, 

Nausistrata! 

Chrem.  {struggling).  Peace,  Sirrah! 

Phor.  Peace,  indeed! 

Dem.  Unless  he  follows,  strike  him  in  the  stomach ! 

Phor.  Aye,  or  put  out  an  eye ! — But  here  comes  one 
Will  give  me  full  revenge  upon  you  both. 


Scene  II. 

To  them  Nausistrata. 

Naus.  Who  calls  for  me? 

Chrem.  Confusion! 


ll.J 


PHORMIO. 


GOT 


Naus.  [to  CiiiiEMES).  Pray,  my  clear, 

What’s  this  disturbance? 

Phor.  Dumb,  old  Truepenny  ! 

Naus.  Who  is  this  'man  ? — Why  don’t  you  answer  me  ? 

(To  ClIREMES.) 

Phor.  He  answer  you!  he’s  hardly  in  his  senses. 

Chrem.  Never  believe  him! 

Phor.  Do  but  go  and  touch  him ; 

He’s  in  a shivering  fit.  I’ll  lay  my  life. 

Chrem.  Nay 

Naus.  But  what  means  he  then  ? 

Phor.  I’ll  tell  you,  madam ; 

Do  but  attend! 

Chrem.  Will  you  believe  him  then  ? 

Naus.  What  is  there  to  believe,  when  he  says  nothing? 
Phor.  Poor  man!  his  fear  deprives  him  of  his  wits. 

Naus.  (to  Chremes).  I’m  sure  you’re  not  so  much  afraid 
for  nothing. 

Chrem.  W^hat!  I afraid? 

(Endeavoring  to  take  heart.) 

Phor.  Oh,  not  at  all! — And  since 
You’re  in  no  fright,  and  what  I say  means  nothing, 

Tell  it  yourself. 

Dem.  At  your  desire,  you  rascal? 

Phor.  Oh,  you’ve  done  rarely  for  your  brother.  Sir! 

Naus.  W^hat!  Won’t  you  tell  me,  husband? 

Chrem.  But 

Naus.  But  what  ? 

Chrem.  There’s  no  occasion  for  it. 

Phor.  Not  for  you : 

But  for  the  Lady  there  is  mucli  occasion. 

In  Lemnos 

Chrem.  Ha ! what  say  you  ? 

Dem.  (to  Phormio).  Hold  your  peace ! 

Phor.  Without  your  knowledge 

Chrem.  Oh  dear! 

Phor.  He  has  had 
Another  wife. 

Naus.  My  husband?  Heav’n  forbid! 

Phor.  ’Tis  even  so. 

Naus.  Ah  me!  I am  undone. 

Phor.  — And  had  a daughter  by  her  there ; while  you 
Was  left  to  sleep  in  ignorance  alone. 

Naus.  Oh  Heavens! — Baseness! — Treachery! 

Phor.  ’Tis  fact. 

Naus.  Was  ever  any  thing  more  infamous? 

When  they’re  with  us,  their  wives  forsooth,  they’re  old. 

— Demipho,  I appeal  to  you : for  him 
I can  not  bear  to  speak  to. — And  w^ere  these 
His  frequent  journeys  and  long  stay  at  Lemnos? 

\Yas  this  the  cheapness  tluil  reduc’d  our  rents? 


G08 


PHORMIO. 


[Act  V 


Dem.  That  lie  has  been  to  blame,  Nansistrata, 

I don’t  deny ; but  not  beyond  all  jiardon. 

Phor.  You’re  talking  to  the  dead. 

Dem.  It  was  not  done 
Out  of  aversion  or  contempt  to  you. 

In  liquor,  almost  fifteen  years  ago. 

He  met  this  woman,  whence  he  had  this  daughter; 
Nor  e’er  had  commerce  with  her  from  that  hour. 

She’s  dead : your  only  grievance  is  remov’d. 
Wherefore  I beg  you’d  show  your  w'onted  goodness, 
And  bear  it  patientl}^ 

Naus.  How!  bear  it  patiently? 

Alas ! I wish  his  vices  might  end  here. 

But  have  I the  least  hope?  can  I suppose 
That  years  will  cure  these  rank  offenses  in  him  ? 

Ev’n  at  that  time  he  was  already  old, 

If  age  could  make  him  modest. — Are  my  years 
And  beauty,  think  ye,  like  to  please  him  more 
At  present,  Demipho,  than  formerly? 

— In  short,  what  ground,  what  reason  to  expect 
That  he  should  not  commit  the  same  hereafter? 

Phor.  {aloud).  Whoever  would  attend  the  funeral 
Of  Chremes,  now’s  the  time  ! — See ! that’s  my  wa3\ 
Come  on  then ! provoke  Phormio  now,  who  dares ! 
Like  Chremes,  he  shall  fall  a victim  to  me. 

— Let  him  get  into  favor  when  he  will ! 

I’ve  had  revenge  sufficient.  She  has  something 
To  ring  into  his  ears  his  whole  life  long. 

Naus.  Plave  I deserv’d  this? — Need  I,  Demipho, 
Number  up  each  particular,  and  say 
How  good  a wife  I’ve  been? 

Dem.  I know  it  all. 

Naus.  Am  I then  justly  treated? 

Dem.  Not  at  all. 

But  since  reproaches  can’t  undo  what’s  done,  ^ 

Forgive  him ! he  begs  pardon ; owns  his  fault ; 

And  promises  to  mend.— What  would  you  more  ? 

Phor.  But  hold;  before  she  ratifies  his  pardon, 

I must  secure  myself  and  Phsedria.  {Aside.) 

— Nansistrata,  a word ! — Before  you  give 
Your  answer  rashlv’',  hear  me! 

Naus.  What’s  your  pleasure? 

Phor.  I trick’d  j'our  husband  there  of  thirty  minte, 
Which  I have  giv’n  3'our  son ; and  he  has  paid  them 
To  a procurer  for  a mistress. 

CiiREM.  How ! 

What  sa\"  you? 

Naus.  Is  it  such  a heinous  crime 
For  your  young  son,  d’ye  think,  to  have  one  mistress, 
While  you  have  two  wives  ? — ^Are  you  not  asham’d  ? 
Have  you  the  face  to  chide  him  ? ansv/cr  me  ! 


Sc.  II.] 


riiouMio. 


C09 


Dem.  He  shall  do  ev’ry  thing  you  please. 

Naus.  Nay,  nay, 

To  teli  you  plainly  my  whole  mind  at  once, 

I’ll  not  forgive,  nor  promise  any  thing, 

Nor  give  an  answer,  till  I see  my  son. 

PnoR.  Wisely  resolv’d,  Nausistrata. 

Naus.  Is  that 

Sufficient  satisfaction  for  you  ? 

Phor.  Quite. 

I rest  contented,  well  pleas’d,  past  my  hopes. 

Naus.  What  is  your  name,  pray  ? 

PiiOR.  My  name?  Phormio: 

A faithful  friend  to  all  your  family. 

Especially  to  Phaedria. 

Naus.  Trust  me,  Phormio, 

I’ll  do  you  all  the  service  in  my  power. 

Phor.  I’m  much  oblig’d  to  you. 

Naus.  You’re  worthy  on’t. 

Phor.  Will  you  then  even  now,  Nausistrata, 

Grant  me  one  favor  that  will  pleasure  me, 

And  grieve  your  husband’s  sight? 

Naus.  With  all  my  soul. 

Phor.  Ask  me  to  supper! 

Naus.  I invite  you. 

Dem.  In  then! 

Naus.  We  will.  But  where  is  Phaedria,  our  judge? 
Phor.  He  shall  be  with  you. — {To  the  Audience.) 

Farewell;  Clap  your  hands! 


THE  END. 


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